


TIEd Down

by Acosmiclove



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Choking, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Slow Burn, Stranded, Survival, The Force, Violence, and maybe sorta kinda fall for each other, two emotionally constipated space wizards are forced to survive together on a deserted planet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 95,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27529498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acosmiclove/pseuds/Acosmiclove
Summary: The Second Sister captures Cal Kestis on Bogano. The only trouble is, there’s only one seat in her TIE.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Comments: 130
Kudos: 230





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i want to thank my little catrilla family on twitter for helping me bring this fic to life. bri, ezra, aaron, nadine, aqua... you guys are the best. your collaboration and support mean the world to me. love you lots and lots!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to thank my little catrilla family on twitter for helping me bring this fic to life. bri, ezra, aaron, nadine, aqua... you guys are the best. your collaboration and support mean the world to me. love you lots and lots!

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

  
  


“Careful with that thing.” The Second Sister steps around Cal Kestis’s crumpling form. “It’s been through hell!“ 

The Jedi kneels in the shallow water of the vault, gripping her saber close to his chest, face contorted in agony. Trilla recalls reviewing grainy security holos of him using his psychometry in various situations, but it was obvious this reaction he was having was not normal. He’d lost control the instant he called her saber to his hand with the Force. She wonders what he is seeing. What trauma had she subconsciously bled into her saber? Was he witnessing all her horrors? The thought left her uncomfortable.

Briefly, she considers fleeing with the holocron. She pushes the impulse from her mind. No, she will face the Jedi, no matter what he sees of her in that saber. _Or you could just kill him_. She frowns as she takes in the sight of the trembling Jedi. It would be so easy. He was kneeling before her, exposed, defenseless in his psychometric fit. She could ignite her saber in his hands with a thought in the Force and let it pierce his chest. In a single violent moment, it would all be over. _But, what a waste that would be…_ No, she is taking him with her. With the Ninth Sister dead, they were in need of fresh blood in the Inquisitorius. How ironic would it be to replace Ninth Sister with the one who’d killed her? 

Trilla reaches for the back of her belt and procures a set of stun cuffs. There was no telling when Kestis would awaken, and she did not want him causing her any more trouble. She crouches before him and freezes at the soft sounds of distress he’s making. “No...no... _please_...” Her throat tightens. A sharp ‘boop dee?’ has her flinching in surprise. Kestis’s little droid peeks at her from over his shoulder. She scowls at it and it slips out of view again. The restraints lock around his wrists with a satisfying mechanical ‘click’ and his lightsaber and her’s falls away from his hands into hers. Their fingers brush briefly and Trilla can’t get away from him fast enough. Her boots splash in the water as she takes two long strides backwards. She takes a deep breath and wills her heart to slow to an appropriate speed. For a moment, she marvels at the craftsmanship displayed in the long hilt of his lightsaber. Double-bladed like her own. And, if her memory served, like his master’s. A soft groan has her stiffening as she realizes he’s coming around. “Trilla?” Kestis’s voice betrays his emotion. He looks at her through wet lashes, “What...?”

“You really should learn to control that ability of yours.” She twirls his saber idly in her fingers, “Look what trouble it’s gotten you into.”

Kestis suddenly seems to realize exactly what position he’s in. He stares down at his bound hands and then back up at her. Annoyance blazes clear in his eyes. His mouth purses in a way that has Trilla feeling a curious way. “Seriously?”

She can’t help but laugh at him. He scowls deeper at her mocking tone and gets to his feet. Why was he so incredulous? What other way did he see this ending? “You should count yourself lucky that I decided to spare your life while you whimpered like a child on the floor.” 

At that, his expression softens into something Trilla doesn’t like. Pity. The urge to lash out at him is strong. Her grip tightens on his saber. What _exactly_ had this insufferable boy seen of her in her saber? The not knowing eats at her. She feels exposed and on her back foot. Trilla did not enjoy not being the one in control. Kestis seems to sense her swelling rage and he lifts his bound hands a bit, “Trilla... I saw...”

“Don’t you dare speak of it, Jedi.” She warns, her tone deadly. There is no room for argument. She doesn’t want to hear this now. _Oh, you do, but if he tells you, at what cost will it be to yourself?_ Trilla marches up to Kestis and takes him roughly by his bicep. He makes an indignant noise as she guides him forcibly to the entrance of the vault. “If you so much as _think_ about running, I’ll cut your legs off and feed them to that obscenely large amphibian out there.”

He mutters something sarcastic that Trilla doesn’t care to decipher. She’s busy realizing for the first time that she did _not_ properly plan for this outcome. She has a hard time squeezing back through the crack in the wall leading from the vault while holding tight to Kestis’s arm. He hisses as she yanks him and his oversized poncho through none too kindly. His cheek has a fresh scrape as he stumbles out. The sight of it sets fire to something in her. Though, she doesn’t care to identify what that something is... He is oddly compliant, given the circumstance. Trilla stops them at the top of the steep mud track leading down into the canyon-scape below. A long list of scenarios runs through her mind. She can’t risk Kestis escaping her now. He knows too much. The holocron is a phantom burn where it rests at her hip. Realistically, the best course of action would be for her to bring the cube straight to her masters. Kestis wasn’t the top priority. In fact, perhaps she should just kill him after all... The Jedi shifts in her grip and Trilla tightens her fingers around him. “Ow.” 

She gives him a withering look before a low whirring alerts her to his droid slowly making its way down his leg. Trilla catches the droid with the Force as it tries to run away. It’s little metal feet pedal futilely in the air as she lifts it. “I don’t think so...”

“Hey!” Kestis wrenches in her grip, his voice tight with worry, “Don’t hurt BD-1!”

It is ridiculous to her. The attachment the Jedi has to the diminutive droid. Indicative of his weakness. What might he be made into if this useless affection was turned against him? How much anger will she pull from him if she crushes his precious droid into irreparable pieces right before his eyes? It’s tempting to find out. Trilla opts to instead call the squirming tech into her free hand. ‘Brwwwwee!!’ it protests. Kestis stiffens in her hold on him as she studies the droid for a long moment. “Ah... here.” With a strategic press under it’s ‘head’ with her thumb, Trilla finds the power supply. Another touch, and it falls limp in her grasp. Before he can question her, she pulls him forward, Jedi in one hand, his droid in the other. “Let’s go.” 

Trilla leads him down the slippery trail and is met at the bottom by one of the Purge Troopers she brought with her to this backwater world. “Second Sister.” He intones from beneath his helmet. “We’ve located the Jedi’s ship. Shall we deal with it’s crew?”

Kestis’s presence in the Force sharpens into a deadly point. Trilla glares at him from the corner of her eye. She will not have him acting a fool. He would not get far even if he tried to. His restraints were designed to stun him if he wandered a specific distance from her or if she manually activated them. “No. We have all we came for. They are nothing without their Jedi. Collect your men and report back to the Fortress. I will follow you shortly.” The trooper hesitates, and Trilla grits her teeth at the insolence, “Do I have to repeat myself?” She snaps.

He straightens to attention. “No, Inquisitor, it will be as you command.”

“Excellent.” Trilla turns to lead Kestis away.

“Only, ah... permission to speak, Inquisitor?” 

She sighs, “ _What?_ ”

The trooper looks between her and the Jedi, “Will we be taking the prisoner with us...?”

Trilla stares at the Purge Trooper. Silence stretches awkwardly between them. Kestis reeks of utter confusion in the Force. “Are you... _questioning_ me?”

“I only ask bec—“

“No.” Trilla shakes the limp frame of Kestis’s droid in the trooper’s helmeted face, “You are out of line, captain. Your orders are clear. Speak this way to me again and you will deeply regret it.”

“R-Right. Of course, Second Sister. Forgive me.”

She scoffs, “Get out of my sight.”

The Purge Trooper gives a salute and hurries away. Kestis whistles low under his breath, “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Trilla rolls her eyes at his cheeky comment. “What makes you think you’re not?”

Kestis shrugs in her grip. “Just a feeling.”

He’s infuriating. Completely unreasonable. How dare he be so calm and witty in the face of his impending doom? Doesn’t he know what is waiting for him at the end of this? The unending physical pain and mental agony? Trilla wants to take his throat in her hands and watch the fear seep into his eyes as he realizes the fragility of his own life. Maybe then he will not be so ridiculously brave. “I assure you, Jedi, I have nothing but contempt for you.”

“If you say so.” He stops short as they come upon her TIE Interceptor. “Uh.” He cocks his head to the side, squinting at the spherical cockpit suspended above them. “How’s this working?”

Trilla tries her best not to betray her egregious oversight. _That’s why the captain was asking about Kestis, you idiot. How in the thousand moons of Iego are you going to sort this out?_ She alights to the top of the TIE with a Force aided leap, dragging Kestis with her. He still seems unconvinced as he stares down into the open circular hatch. Trilla cuts him off before he can continue to question her, “Get in.” He grunts as she gives him a rude shove into the TIE.

She listens to him shuffle around below her. “I still don’t see how this is going to work.” He peers up at her from where he’s wedged himself just behind the pilot seat. 

“Use your imagination.” She hisses as she swings down into the cockpit with him. His droid is tossed somewhere behind her as she settles into her seat and pulls the hatch shut with the Force. It locks with a hiss. The sphere is dark save for the glow of the controls surrounding her. She hears Kestis breathing just behind her. “Try anything and those cuffs are set to stun. You’ll be out for hours.” 

“Noted.” He huffs softly. She hears him shift restlessly, obviously uncomfortable. Good. Maybe he’d lose his cockiness with the prolonged discomfort. 

Trilla’s fingers fly over the launch protocols and soon she is guiding the TIE into the upper atmosphere of the emerald planet. Kestis’s presence in the Force oozes disquiet. It's the first time he’s shown true distress since he awoke in her custody. She is aware that her old master is still down there. Probably waiting for Kestis to return. 

She will be waiting a long time.

=+=

Cal yearns to stretch his legs. His knees protest at his cramped position. He thinks he can maybe slide his legs around Trilla’s seat, but she snaps at him for ‘being too loud’ whenever he tries to find a more relaxed seating, so he doesn’t try it. He doesn’t want to push her too far. He needs to keep her under the impression that he is a cooperative prisoner. Just until he can get the upper hand again... Cal sighs and looks down to where a lifeless BD-1 lays forlornly in his lap. He wants to power the droid back on, but it will surely temp Trilla’s ire. “Uh, so... how much longer?” He strains to look over her shoulder at the readouts in front of her. 

“At least eight standard hours.” An alarm sounds above them and she reaches without looking to press several switches. The urgent sound ceases. 

“What was that for?” He tries making small talk. It’s all that he has at this point. 

Trilla leans back in her seat. She is so close he can smell her. There’s the predictable scent of leather, but something else too. Whatever she washes her hair with? It was _nice_. A juxtaposition to her cold demeanor. He backs off slightly when she turns to catch his gaze, “This Interceptor is equipped with a prototype hyperdrive. I have to manually manage it’s heating and cooling to keep it stable.”

Cal feels his mouth go dry. Hyperspace was _not_ the place to have a mechanical malfunction. “Why would you fly something so temperamental?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “The Empire needed willing and capable pilots to test this tech.”

“So, I take it that means you weren’t really given a choice?” Cal asks quietly. 

Trilla is silent for a time. Cal eventually thinks she’s just not going to answer him and he is about to lean back against the bulkhead when she sighs, “There are no choices in the Inquisitorius.”

The memory of her torture flashes unbidden across his mind. She’d endured so much... “You made the choice not to kill me.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She tilts her chin down slightly, “I don’t always kill every Jedi I find.”

Cal wonders just how many had fallen into her grasp. He has a suspicion she didn’t usually make a habit of putting her prey in her TIE with her. “Well, I’m honored to be among the living then.”

“Shut up.” She sounds exasperated with him. He smirks to himself. They don’t speak for a time, so Cal leans back and tinkers with BD-1. He knows he should count himself lucky that Trilla had not destroyed the droid the moment BD-1 had attempted to escape to get help from the _Mantis_ crew. Cal glances towards Trilla. She is once again working to silence that shrill alarm. Cal takes the opportunity to do what is surely going to get him yelled at. He powers the droid back on. BD-1 hops to life. It’s surroundings seem to confuse it. It beeps at Cal in question. Trilla groans above the alarm. She knows exactly what he’s done. “You exist to test me, don’t you?”

BD-1 warbles back at her the rudest thing Cal’s ever heard from it. He snatches the droid up, “Shhh, little buddy.” Soon, the alarm falls blissfully silent. Trilla’s shoulders slump in what is obvious relief. Cal sets BD-1 down as he leans towards the front again, his bound hands gripping the top of her seat, “We in trouble?”

“ _You_ are. As for this ship?” She waves at the star streaked viewport, “We’re still in hyperspace aren’t we?”

Cal catches the glint of sweat at her brow. “Yeah, but I’m getting a bad feeling...”

“Once I deliver you to the Fortress, you’ll have plenty of time for these ‘bad feelings’ of yours.” She hisses, “I have this under control.”

He is trying not to think about the end of this flight. Cal is banking on getting away long before being imprisoned. He just needs to find the right opening... Preferably when they aren’t careening dangerously through space with an unstable hyperdrive. “If you say so.”

The ship suddenly lurches violently. The slipstream of stars warps in a way Cal has never seen. Trilla curses and the coarse sound leaving her lips is oddly appealing to him, even in the face of imminent doom. Her hands are everywhere at once. Flying over buttons and screens and switches. “I’ve lost _all_ controls!”

“You _just_ said you had this _under control!_ ” He braces himself as the TIE shudders again. There is the distinct sound of straining metal around them. To die in the open vacuum of space was not a pleasant way to go. “Can’t we shut off the hyperdrive?!”

Trilla is now gripping the steering yoke with a Force aided grip. He feels her straining to stay on course, even with hyperspace collapsing around them. “No! It won’t shut down without a cooling protocol and I can’t submit that without letting go—!”

Cal lifts his bound hands to freeze the controls in the Force. The yoke vibrates under Trilla’s hands. She let’s go as she realizes what he’s done. “Start the protocol!” He focuses on keeping the yoke still while Trilla does what she can to get the hyperdrive to disengage. BD-1 crawls up his back and beeps into his ear. Cal nearly loses his concentration. “You did _what?!_ ”

“Beep woo!”

“Of course! Of course it would be you, you little menace!!” Trilla snaps at the droid over the rattle of metal and the whine of the overloading hyperdrive. “I am going to _violently_ disassemble that droid of yours, Kestis!”

Another shake of the ship and Cal is leaning fully into Trilla’s shoulder to keep himself upright. “How about we focus on not dying first!” 

They leave hyperspace so abruptly that Cal loses his grip on the controls. Trilla swiftly tries to correct their erratic trajectory, but the TIE is now spinning out of control. A silvery grey world swallows the viewport. “Brace yourself!” Trilla manages to stop the spinning, but Cal can now smell something burning behind him. “This landing will _not_ be gentle!”

“We’re _crashing_! Just say we’re _crashing_!” Icy fear grips him as the atmosphere breaks before them. Memories of an escape pod shaking around him, the heat of reentry, the body of his master lying before him as his entire world collapses around him—

Trilla’s chair swivels at the last moment and Cal feels himself pushed back against the bulkhead right before all goes black. 

——

He wakes to water. It drips in a steady stream on his face. Cal opens his eyes to nearly pitch darkness. His ears pop painfully as he swallows blood. His tongue traces his bottom lip. He must have bitten it in the crash. Electricity arcs out of the TIE’s flight controls. The brief flashes of light illuminate the silhouette of Trilla slumped forward in her seat, which has inexplicably turned toward him in the crash. He can feel her faintly in the Force. Water is rising fast in the cracked cockpit. Cal goes to move closer to the incapacitated Inquisitor, but as he does, a ripple of pain shoots up his leg. “Damn it...” He groans in agony. 

“Boop?” BD-1 pops out of the water covering the floor. It extends a stim towards him - the healing aid shining bright in the deep blue darkness. 

“Not now, buddy.” Cal claws at the restraints holding Trilla in her seat. “We gotta get out of here first.” His still bound hands pat her down, trying to find the release of the straps crossing her body. His fingers brush the hilt of his saber on her hip. Beside it shines the holocron. The whole reason he’d let himself be taken by Trilla in the first place. He could take it back now and leave Trilla to her fate. Let her drown. 

_You can’t do that._

“Cut her free, BD-1.” Cal points out the taut straps above her shoulders. BD-1 hops up and uses his small torch to scorch through the military grade material. The smell is suffocating. Cal coughs and lets Trilla slump against his chest as she falls free. “Hold onto me, okay buddy?” He waits until he can feel BD-1’s metal ‘feet’ clamp onto the back of his poncho. Cal swallows his nerves. He didn’t know how deep the TIE had sunk. The surface could be many meters above them. Cal reaches deep into the Force and extends his hands towards the leaking hatch above them. It blasts open. Cal almost forgets to take a deep breath before a cascade of freezing water rushes in on them. He waits two long seconds while the TIE fills and then begins to swim. He holds onto Trilla by the back of her uniform to get her through the hatch. With his hands still locked in cuffs, he has to rely on his legs to swim. His injury burns in agony as he kicks towards the surface. It’s slow going. His lungs scream for air. _Trust only in the Force, padawan_. Cal calms enough to allow his awareness to expand beyond himself. He senses a disturbance not far above him. _That’s it._

The next minute is the longest of his life. He hangs onto consciousness with every shred of resolve he can muster. When he breaks the surface, he’s never tasted air so sweet. Cal coughs as he hauls Trilla’s head above the waterline. He brushes against her presence in the Force again. It’s weaker than before. Worry turns to dread as he makes for the shoreline. Muted sunlight illuminates a patch of sand amongst the rocks bordering the water’s edge. Cal cries out as he puts weight on his injured leg in an effort to bring Trilla onto the beach. On his knees at her side, he takes a stim from BD-1 and administers it to her. He waits. 

And waits.

Nothing changes. He growls in frustration. “Come on...” He guides her limp, soaking wet form into his lap. She is deathly still. Cal loops his cuffed wrists around the back of her head to cradle her closer. “Trilla?” He leans over her - the closest he’s ever been. Her complexion is far too grey in this world’s pale sunlight. He can hardly feel her anymore. Cal struggles to catch his breath. His heart hammers inside his chest. 

He wants to scream. The urge crashes against his teeth and he has to clench his jaw to keep the keening sound inside him. He bites his tongue to try and center himself. Why did he feel this way? When had this woman become so... _important_?

He’s felt this exact desperation before. Five years ago. On the floor of an escape pod, and then again in it’s wreckage. His master’s body so cold under his touch… _No, no, no, no_...

“H-Hey...” His voice hitches. Drops of water from his hair fall against her cheek, sliding down her fine features. She looks peaceful for once. Her brow smooth of tension, her mouth not bent in a frown or a twisted smile. _Don’t die…_ The thought of losing her here, after everything, feels so incredibly wrong to him. It turns his stomach. “Hold on, okay?” 

Cal knows next to nothing of healing with the Force, but he does know it’s possible. He closes his eyes and lets his forehead fall against the cold skin of her own. His nose bumps hers. An intention is clear in his mind. _You’re stronger than this, Trilla_. The Force surrounds him in a warm aura. The frigid cold of his own body begins to melt. Cal wants that for Trilla too. He curls around her, willingly her to feel and latch onto the lifeline that he’s brought within her grasp. _Please_...

=+=

Trilla feels weightless. 

Her body is free of tension, something she’s never experienced before. She relaxes into the cold relief. Stars sparkle above her. She remembers how she could never see the stars from the Temple roof. The planetarium in the archives was the closest thing to an unpolluted sky she could find. How many quiet hours had she spent laying beneath those twinkling holo maps, studying and memorizing them? She recalls impressing her new master with her knowledge on their early missions together. How they would lay under the stars together and Trilla would name the constellations and heavenly bodies above them with ease. How Cere would praise her...

Trilla sighs into the darkness that holds her aloft. 

That was so long ago. A different girl.

Distantly, she hears something. It’s too far away to identify, but it’s not nothing. Trilla turns her face towards it to see the darkness bleeding. A crimson glow like the way a sun shines red behind closed eyes. It’s warm, but it brings discomfort with it. Trilla looks back to the stars, tears slipping down her face. She could stay here. She wants to. There would be no more pain, hurt... _anger_. 

_Please_. She hears it clearly now. A feeling unlike anything she’s experienced surrounds her. It’s like an embrace. A warm wanting. 

A heart touching another.

Trilla takes what is offered with both hands. 

The stars can wait a little longer.

——

A wet cough wracks her body and Trilla feels herself turn to the side. Water passes through her lips until she can breathe normally again. Something moves under her. Trilla stiffens at the realization that she is being held. Hands cup the back of her head. She hears ragged breaths above her. Trilla opens her eyes to meet exhausted green ones. _Cal_. They stare at each other, inhaling eerily in sync. Kestis looks like a wet loth cat. His usually bright red hair lays dark and wet against his face. Trilla traces the deep scar across the bridge of his nose with her gaze. She makes a mental note of the freckles dusting his cheeks - there had never been cause to notice them before now. His mouth is so close, Trilla is sure she could brush her lips to his if she desires.

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly, as if speaking too loudly would disturb the strange peace between the two of them.

She closes her eyes. Her body aches. Would it be wrong to lay in the Jedi’s arms for a while longer? He was so warm... _Don’t be weak. Get up and take charge of this situation_. Trilla grits her teeth, her brow furrows. This was no time to get soft. “I’m fine.” She untangles herself from his bound arms and pushes herself away from him. His unguarded expression hardens, but she senses a wave of relief from him. Her nails dig into the sand beneath her. _What a fool_. Shakily, she gets her feet under her and stands. Her head swims, but she presses forward to the water’s edge. “Where’s my ship?”

Kestis laughs without any levity, “At the bottom of the lake.”

Questions race through her mind. The loudest makes its way to him, “How did you get us out?”

“With great difficulty.” He says wearily and she hears a touch of pain in his every word. Trilla looks back at him to see him accepting a healing stim from his droid. “You’re welcome.”

Trilla brushes her wet hair behind her ear. The cold is seeping back into her bones now. They need to find shelter. Dry their clothes... An urgent thought occurs to her then and she pats at her belt to find she still has possession of both sabers and most importantly... the holocron. She feels Kestis watching her. “By sparing me, you’ve only sealed your fate.”

The Jedi sighs, “Yeah, maybe.”

The sky is darkening. Trilla shivers involuntarily. “Get up.” She towers over him, hand on a hip, “We can’t stay here.”

Kestis struggles to stand. She makes no move to help him. It is amusing to watch him flounder in the sand with only one good leg. His droid jumping on his back almost knocks him off balance. Trilla sets off without him, knowing he’ll catch up eventually. As long as she can feel him in the Force, so too, could he feel her. They wouldn’t lose each other. The sand ends in a small rock outcropping and Trilla easily traverses it as she makes her way inland. She comes to the top of a small rise. Her determination wavers at what she sees beyond. A barren land. Desolate plateaus and sparse grasslands for as far as she can see. The most promising chance for protection from the elements was a cliffside farther down the lakeshore. Trilla looked back to see Kestis hauling himself over the last boulder. He was clutching at his calf, his face paler than usual. _He’s a burden. Useless. Let him suffer here. Take care of yourself_.

“Kestis.” She acknowledges him as he finally limps to her side. He grunts in reply. The Jedi looks positively miserable. “Can you make it there?” She points out the cliffs. 

“If I have to.” He clenches and unclenches his hands. They are trembling. Trilla’s eyes are drawn to his still cuffed wrists. Deep purple bruising blooms from beneath the metal restraints. Her jaw clenches at the sight. It isn’t as satisfying to see as she wishes it was. 

She drags her bottom lip between her teeth and taps the side of her leg in contemplation. If she removes the stun cuffs, she’ll lose most of the power she has over him... but then again, he wasn’t going anywhere fast. She held their weapons as well. His options were few even if he was no longer bound. Besides, he’d saved her life. Didn’t that mean he wasn’t looking to cause her any harm? “Hold out your hands.” 

The Jedi obeys as if it was absolutely normal to acquiesce to her every order. Trilla feels a flush of satisfaction as he lifts his hands to her without any question. From a compartment on her belt, Trilla pulls a key chip. It passes over the coupling between Kestis’s wrists and the cuffs fall away into her hands. “ _Ah_... thanks...” He winces as he stretches his arms to his side and rolls his shoulders back. Several joints pop. He sighs blissfully.

Trilla catches herself smiling at his obvious relief. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice. She pulls her head from the stars. “Give me your arm.” She says more sharply than she needed to. His eyes widen as she sidles up to him and guides his arm over her far shoulder while she steadies him with a hand at his waist. 

“Why—?” Is his soft response to her actions. He is moving faster now with her help. 

Trilla works her jaw in annoyance. Why did he have to ask? Wasn’t it enough that she was being benevolent? “I need you as bait if we stumble across any unsavory creatures.”

“Huh.” Her hand closes over his abused wrist that dangles over her shoulder. He hisses in pain. She’s only trying to steady him, but she feels a twinge of something like guilt all the same. “That’s uh... that’s pretty smart, _Second Sister_.”

Trilla catches a coy smirk on his lips from the corner of her eye, “What’s so funny, _scrapper_?”

The exhaustion and pain must have caught up with him finally because he actually has the nerve to laugh at her, “You’re a bad liar.”

“Excuse me?” She snaps at him as she guides him around a copse of rocks. 

He pushes his limp hair back from his face as he nods at her, “Yeah, you know how on Zeffo, you said you had the artifact in your ship?” 

Trilla keeps her mouth shut. She knows exactly what he’s talking about. 

“You didn’t have any artifact at all. I knew it the moment you said it.” 

He almost sounds... proud? Trilla rolls her eyes. “How did you know, oh wise Jedi?”

“Because you wouldn’t have bothered to taunt me if you had what you needed.” 

She snorts at that. What a ridiculous reasoning. Her hand shifts from his waist to further up his side. She feels the warmth of him under her fingers through the side of his poncho. “So what if you knew I wasn’t being truthful, it worked, didn’t it? You fell into my trap regardless.”

“I _expected_ one.” He clarified. 

She says nothing to that. Snapshots of their previous encounters play behind her eyes. All that had led them to this exact moment... It seems so unlikely to be here with him now, but at the same time Trilla feels an underlying current of certainty when she looks at Cal Kestis. A strange pull that is stronger now than ever. It’s not something she wants to dwell on, because she senses it’s already weakened her to acknowledge it in the first place. 

They slow to a stop in the shadow of the cliffs. The soft sound of the lake caressing the shore echoes off the high rock. Trilla can make out a shallow depression at its base. She can see her breath in the dying light of day. Kestis shudders with her as a brisk breeze sweeps down the coast line, “Hey, BD-1, can you scout for us?” 

The droid gives a series of cheery beeps and scampers ahead of them. Trilla watches it disappear into the darkness. Eventually it’s spotlight flicks on as they approach. The shallow depression turns out not to be that shallow after all. There is a jagged break in the back wall, and beyond it, a proper cave. “Your droid, when it’s not sabotaging sensitive ship systems, has its uses.”

“Aww, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said yet— ow!” Cal grunts as she abruptly lets him fall to the cavern floor. 

Trilla follows the droid’s searching light around the space. It’s walls are smooth from ancient waters. Strangely, it is significantly warmer than she expected it to be. “Droid, do a scan for life-forms.”

“Brrww doo.” It replies with what sounds like... _indignation_? 

“Come on, buddy, just do it.” Kestis rubs at his leg as he appeals to the droid, “She’s not going to scrap you. I won’t let her.”

Trilla scoffs at that, but the droid seems to be put at ease, because it starts a scan. An earthy smell reaches her nose as she searches the edges of the cave mostly blind, “Kestis, do you feel anything?” 

Kestis stills in the Force, like he’s listening to it. “Yeah, something is here.”

“Beep doo!” The droid finishes its task and projects a series of biometric readouts. Trilla studies them for a short moment. It was what she’d expected. 

She pulls off a glove and presses her bare hand to the stone. “This back wall is almost... _hot_.”

“What does that mean?” Kestis shuffles as best he can over to her. 

Trilla unclips and brandishes her saber. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch in its angry red light. “It means...” She buries the blade in the rock face, dragging it down and over to bring it back up to connect with the first cut. With a Force push, the slab of stone slides through the hole and crashes down into a glowing room beyond. “We aren’t going to freeze tonight.”


	2. Chapter 2

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

Trilla watches the Jedi’s eyes widen with wonder in the soft glow shining through the newly carved opening. “Wow...” He carefully avoids the molten edges where her saber had cut and steps through. “Look at this!” He calls, his voice distant on the other side of the wall. Trilla hesitates, looking back into the darkness behind her, and then follows after him. Once inside, she stops short at the sight before her. This section of the cavern is more expansive than the last. It is filled with glowing flora and in its center is a natural pool - it’s waters steaming. The perimeter of the cavern is raised higher than the center to create a natural shelf. It is comfortably warm. Kestis is already kneeling at the pool’s edge, his hands hovering over the jewel colored water. “BD-1, do a scan here.”

The droid hops over to fulfill it’s master request. “Bee doop!” 

“Yeah?” Cal looks back at Trilla. She keeps her expression neutral as he explains with barely concealed excitement, “BD says the water is safe!”

“Oh?” She replies, her tone uninterested as she wanders to the side of the room. Her fingers trace the wide stone shelf. 

Cal is frowning at her. She can feel it without even looking. He huffs, “Yeah, so...”

Trilla turns to see him struggling to pull his boot from his wounded leg. She’s half tempted to cut him out of it just so he’ll stop his pitiful little grunts. “You want to go...  _ swimming _ ?” She says blandly, though the thought conjures a plethora of not-so-bland images in her mind. She tamps down on them like vice.  _ No. _ “Haven’t you had enough?”

The boot finally comes off. Cal sighs in great relief and leans back for a moment to rest, his mouth parted slightly, eyes closed. Trilla swallows hard at the sight. He looks up at her after a moment. “Why not?” He yanks off his other boot and tosses it to the side. “After the day I’ve had, I think I’ve earned this.” He stands and takes the bottom of his poncho in his hands to tug it over his head. It falls with a wet ‘smack’ to the cavern floor. 

Trilla registers that this is the first time she’s seen him without that hideous article of clothing on. He’s better off without it, in her opinion. His form is lither than she expected... She presses her tongue tightly to the roof of her mouth as he then sheds his leather half vest and goes to pull at the folded collar of his shirt. Trilla knows what’s coming next but she can’t not watch. He glances at her with a quizzical expression. She holds firm and raises a brow in return. Daring him to continue before her eyes. He looks a bit flustered at that, and turns his back to her before he lifts his shirt off. 

_ Oh _ .

For the first time in years, Trilla hears the echo of the Jedi Code in her mind. She mentally rips it to pieces as she stares openly at Cal Kestis’s bare back. When he puts his hands on his hips, the muscles across his shoulder blades flex in a way that leaves her mouth the opposite of dry. Of  _ course _ he would be so fit - it only made sense given his way of life. Cal removes his gloves and the leather wrap at his wrist. It’s then that Trilla notices markings along his right arm. Dark geometric blocks.  _ Curious _ . She hears a clink of metal and from the placement of his arms... she can surmise he’s unbuckling his...

She whirls to face the wall again and tries to remember what she’s even come over here for.  _ Ah. Yes _ . Her fingers move to where her cape is secured to her shoulders. The fabric comes away with a soft snap. It’s still quite wet, so she lays it out over the warm heat of the natural shelf. Soft wafts of steam rise from the cloak as it begins to dry. Her shoulder armor follows, the treated durasteel clacking where she sets it against the stone. Trilla drags her fingers back through her hair, gathering it at the back of her head and twisting it up. It was nice to get it’s cool damp off her neck. All the while she is painfully aware that she is now the one being watched.  _ Let him _ . The muscles in her jaw work as she touches the front of her uniform top. It needs to come off.  _ So _ ,  _ why are you hesitating? _ She hears a soft splash and glances back to see Kestis submerge himself in the water. She takes the chance to unzip her top and shrug it off. Left in her sleeveless grey undershirt, Trilla rubs at the cool skin of her arms. Her fingers brush across silvery scores on the inside of her wrist. She doesn’t look at them. Her boots and socks join the rest of her clothes atop the warm shelf. 

“ _ Mmm _ ... this is so  _ nice _ ...” Kestis moans from the water. Trilla closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. _ The audacity of this man _ . She steels herself and marches to the edge of the pool. Kestis looks up at her in surprise, sinking a little lower in the water at her annoyed expression, “What?”

Trilla eyes flick down into the water. He’s not nude, so that’s a relief. He possesses an ounce of shame. “This isn’t a pleasure trip, Kestis.”

He lifts his abused wrists above the water and says sarcastically, “Really? I had no idea.”

At his insolence, she is overcome with the urge to hurt him. Dig her nails into his skin and make him bleed. Tear that misplaced confidence out of him with her teeth. Grab him by that ridiculously red head of hair and make him see that he had no control here. Her palms itch. She curls her fingers tight. “Do not make the mistake of forgetting you are my prisoner, Jedi.”

Kestis narrows his eyes, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Trilla, satisfied she’d asserted dominance once more, seats herself at the edge of the pool. She rolls her pant legs up her calves and lowers her feet in. The water is near scalding at first and she sucks in a sharp breath through her nose at the temperature. A minute later, and she’s leaning back on her arms and staring up at the ceiling. It really  _ is _ nice.

=+=

Cal watches Trilla dip her feet in the water and fights a self satisfied smirk at the way she melts at the heat. She is a contradiction. One moment she’s projecting interest at him, and the next she seems on the edge of ending him. It is making it difficult to navigate any interaction with her. Undressing in front of her had been nerve wracking. Her eyes had felt like a cold fire licking at his skin. Though, when she’d turned away eventually, he wondered if she’d simply lost interest. 

Pant-less at the water’s edge he’d looked over to see her shedding her own clothes. Her hair was up, giving him a generous view of her neck. Cal had immediately looked away and slipped into the water. He didn’t think she’d appreciate his ogling. Not that that was what he’d been doing. Nope. Not at  _ all _ . 

Now, he observes her without reservation. She has her head tipped back, eyes closed, the sharp angles of her jaw on display. Her bare arms are toned and defined. Cal thinks back to the raw strength he’d seen her exhibit in all their battles. The undershirt she wears barely hides a muscular core. He averts his eyes again.  _ Don’t. Don’t be an idiot. _ This woman was his enemy. She’d kill him if he stepped over the line. Where was this line he shouldn’t cross? He couldn’t tell. She seemed to change it with every passing hour. Cal lets himself sink below the water. The heat feels good against his face. When he surfaces, he has to scoop his hair back out of his eyes. Trilla is staring at him again. He feels the same cold heat in her gaze. “What?”

She seems to remember herself then and leans forward off her arms to point at the ceiling. Cal follows her finger to see glints of light embedded across the stone above them. “This isn’t a normal cave.” Trilla says, her tone unidentifiable. 

“Yeah, this hot spring and the glow-y plants really were the first clue, I’d say.” Cal tries joking. 

“Kestis. You are not this dense.” She sighs in exasperation and holds a hand up to the ceiling. For a brief moment, Cal can feel the entire cavern respond in the Force. The ceiling flickers brighter. “This is what you felt earlier.”

It‘s the same warm song of energy in the Force he’d perceived before Trilla exposed the geothermal atrium. “Those are...”

“ _ Yes _ . They are.” Trilla lowers her hand to her side and lays flat on her back to look up at the sparkling lights above her, “What are the chances?”

Cal can sense the crystals in his saber more sharply than before after Trilla had awoken the kyber in the ceiling. “The Force works in strange ways.” 

“Don’t you start with that ‘it’s the will of the Force’ drivel.” She mutters. Her fingers idly tap at the side of his saber on her hip. The action sends a shock of heat low in him. Cal swallows and then immediately almost chokes on his own saliva when her fingers switch from tapping to  _ caressing _ the metal hilt instead. “We’re not a part of some cosmic grand plan.” A humorless laugh leaves her lips, “And even if we were, it’s a terrible one.”

Cal rubs at his face in an effort to scrub the mental images of Trilla’s hand fondling his lightsaber from his mind. “Y-Yeah, maybe.” He‘s not sure he can focus on this philosophical discussion, “But isn’t it better to believe we play an important part in the fabric of the universe?”

“That’s easy to say while you’re still alive, Kestis. What of all the Jedi who perished so suddenly and violently in the Purge? Were their lives important or not?” Trilla sounds strained. Her face is turned away from him, “What of the worlds destroyed? Populations decimated? Ecosystems ravaged? How could that be the will of what is supposed to nurture and holds this universe together?”

Her words sober him. He didn’t expect this from her, considering that she was one of the people actively harming the galaxy in the name of the Empire - the source of all the unrest. Memories of what he’d seen through her saber flash across his mind. How she’d been a hopeful padawan, twisted by pain and betrayal until she was nearly unrecognizable from who’d she’d been before. “I don’t know.” He subconsciously rubs at the angry scar at his neck, “But I won’t give up this path I’m on just because I don’t have all the answers. I believe that, someday, there will be balance in the Force again.”

Trilla doesn’t say anything. He feels her discontent. As if she wants to say many things, but can’t. Or won’t. 

Cal pushes himself out of the pool and sits at its edge across from Trilla. She appears unguarded, stripped of her uniform, barefoot, hair back... She doesn’t look much like an Inquisitor now. The glow of the plants bordering the pool cast her in a light so soft that Cal could almost fool himself into imagining she wasn’t his enemy anymore. Just a weary young woman sharing this space with him. Cal winces as he lifts his injured leg out of the water. His calf is swollen and has taken on an alarming black and purple shade. Touching it has him biting back a groan. He suspects the bone is fractured. All his continued movement had likely only worsened it after the crash. Cal notices Trilla’s presence in the Force has quieted to a consistent cadence. He stands and as he rounds the pool to gather his clothes, he sees that she’s fallen asleep, feet still dipped in the water. He’s not surprised, per se, since she’d had a day just as long and exhausting as his, not counting the fact she’d nearly died. It’s just strange that she would seemingly trust him enough to leave herself so vulnerable. 

Cal is quiet as he gathers his mostly dry clothes and lays them out near Trilla’s along the sloped wall. BD-1 dials it’s own volume down as it warbles a question. Cal sits, his bare back against the warm stone, and props a knee up to rest his arm on, “Not sure, little buddy. I don’t think anyone knows we’re here.” How are they going to get off this world? Where are they even? Trilla’s TIE is a wreck at the bottom of the lake and unless there is a settlement nearby, Cal doubts the odds of rescue are in their favor. His stomach growls then, which brings another set of problems to light. What are they going to eat? He glances around the cave and eyes the glowing flora. Something tells him that glowing things are likely not edible, but just in case, he has BD-1 scan them. Their composition is harmless enough. The sulfur content is a little high, but that isn’t a surprise since they grew near a geothermal feature. Still, he thinks he’ll wait until Trilla is awake to try eating any strange plants - just in case something went wrong. 

——

Cal feels a hand push at his shoulder. He startles and instinctively raises his hands to ward off a blow. His eyes open as Trilla crouches before him. There is a dangerous glint to her eyes.

“Wha—?” Her bare hand clamps over his mouth. She points to the entrance of the cave. Beyond the hole in the wall, stalks several large creatures. They didn’t sound like the friendly sort either. But Cal might worry about them more if his head wasn’t beginning to feel light. His psychometry threatens to manifest with her hand pressing so firmly against his skin. He forcibly pulls it away. “ _ Don’t _ ... Don’t just  _ touch _ me like that!” He hisses at her, near panic.

She snatches her hand to her chest and seems to take in his mostly bare form properly since she came to his side. Her eyes narrow and her entire countenance changes drastically. “Shut up, Kestis. You’re the one who can’t control your ability.”

Another set of growls rolls into their hideaway. Cal catches a flash of fangs pass by the hole in the wall. “It’s not that easy!” He snaps back at her. Then, with a dark smirk, Trilla leans into his space, far too close for comfort. Cal presses his back into the rock. Her eyes flicker across his features. He feels a bead of sweat gathering at his forehead. “What?”

“I’m just imagining how easily you’ll break when I bring you to Fortress Inquisitorius.” She’s looking down the bridge of her nose at him, her arm bracing on the wall behind him, “A simple touch cripples you? How unfortunate for you... And how  _ fun _ for the ones who will break you.”

Anxiety blooms in his gut. This is not the Trilla he’d spoken to earlier. She’s all sharp edges and sick words now. “We’re a long way from Fortress Inquisitorus.” He bites outs. 

“For now.” Trilla says, foreboding in her tone. He thinks she’s going to try and touch him again, but she pushes away from him and straightens. She snatches her shirt from the ledge and shrugs it on. 

Cal gets to his feet as best he can. He begins to dress as well. His clothes are blissfully warm and dry. “I thought you’d be in a better mood after you got some sleep, but I guess that was wishful thinking.” 

She roughly yanks on her boots, “I’m  _ never _ in a good mood, Jedi.”

“I’m beginning to realize that.” He struggles into his pants, trying to avoid further irritating his injury. He really can’t figure this woman out. There isn’t any need to continue being hostile towards each other, especially considering that they are stuck together. Cal is more than willing to be cordial to her, but if she insists on terrorizing him, he isn’t going to tolerate it beyond a certain point, and she is nearing that point fast. “What’s the plan to deal with them?” He gestures at the creatures that are sniffing around the entrance. They are far too large to enter the atrium, but they block the way out. 

Trilla doesn’t answer him with words. She simply stalks to the entrance and lifts a hand towards the beasts. Cal feels cold seep into what should have been a warm room. There is a manipulation in the Force that is distinctly dark. His head feels like it’s underwater. Trilla is doing something disturbing to the creatures - he can hear it in their roars of alarm. After a short time, he watches Trilla draw her hand back slowly. The sounds fade away. The cold recedes. “They won’t be a problem anymore.” 

Cal feels sick with how flippantly she’d just conjured the dark side of the Force. “What did you  _ do _ ?”

She rubs her hand in the other as she approaches him, saying with an air of nonchalance, “I made them fear this place.”

“How?” He grits his teeth as he meets her halfway across the room. She stands taller than him, so he lifts his chin a fraction, “You did something  _ more _ ...”

Trilla rolls her eyes at him and dodges the question, “I simply influenced their minds. You don’t need to know anything else—“

“ _ Trilla! _ ” He clenches his fists, trying to keep his own anger in check, “You didn’t need to use the dark side on them!”

She gives a short haughty laugh, “Why are you upset, Kestis? You know exactly what I am—“

“No!” He hates the way his voice is cracking, “I know who you are, Trilla. You  _ aren’t _ this...”

Her hand is around his throat quicker than he can move out of her reach. He grabs at her wrist in a panic, trying to wretch her free. She squeezes harder. “Don’t you  _ dare _ presume to know me, Cal Kestis!” 

“ _ Trill-! _ ” He gasps out. His vision swims. Suddenly, a sharp crackle of electricity fills his ears and Trilla abruptly drops him with a cry of pain. 

Cal falls to his knees with her. She slumps into him, unconscious. He catches the sight of BD-1 perching on Trilla’s back. He realizes what the droid had done. “Thanks, little buddy.” He gasps for breath. 

Shoving the Inquisitor off of him, Cal rolls her over and goes to confiscate her belt. His fingers tremble slightly as he unclips it, the act glaringly intimate. The belt is heavy with their sabers and the holocron. Also, the binders. He secures the Imperial issued belt to his own waist. He hesitates a fraction before restraining Trilla’s hands behind her back. He really didn’t want her trying to strangle him again. He’s careful to avoid too much direct contact. He stands and rubs at his neck. That was definitely going to bruise. “Boo doop!” BD-1 declares as it follows him back to the wall. 

“She’s crazy, yeah.” He slides down the rock face and lets his injured leg stretch out before him. “How angry do you think she’s gonna be when she comes around?”

“Doooo woo.”

Cal sighs at that, “I hope not. I don’t really want to fight her.” The droid boops again and Cal laughs, “You’ll take her on for me? Alright, thanks...”

=+=

Trilla wakes to the feel of warm stone under her cheek. She groans as she rolls into a sitting position. At the same time, she realizes she can’t move her arms. They are locked behind her.  _ What the—? _ Her head whips to the right at the sound of a droid. Kestis is watching her from where he’s seated across the room. “I’m going to end your miserable existence, Jedi, I  _ swear—! _ ”

“I doubt that.” Cal gestures at his waist. 

He has their weapons. And the holocron. Trilla strains against the cuffs. “Get these off of me!”

The Jedi shakes his head at her as if her request is ridiculous, “You tried to  _ kill _ me!”

“Why are you so surprised?” She growls out. “It’s not exactly a new experience for you!”

They glare at each other for several long moments. Kestis breaks first. “Look… We should talk...” He looks exhausted. His hair is askew and oddly fluffy, his poncho and vest still lie off to the side, and his neck sports a vibrant mark where her hand had tried to choke the life out of him. When he sighs, it’s bone weary, “Trilla, I saw what you’ve been through.” Her throat constricts painfully. She says nothing. He continues, “You’ve experienced great suffering.”

Trilla begins to feel nauseous. She isn’t sure she can do this. Her traitorous eyes mist over and she isn’t able to wipe at the them to hide what she’s feeling. “ _ Kestis _ ...” Is she warning him? Begging him to stop?

“I saw the younglings, the torture, what Cere did...” His voice is heavy with emotion and Trilla hates that it’s for her. “I  _ felt _ it all...”

She can’t look at him. Her knees curl up to her chest and she rests her forehead on them. Her hair had come undone in the struggle and it sits in a wavy mess around her face. “What does any of that matter?” 

“Trilla, it’s not too late to let it go.” She hears his worsening limp as he approaches. 

“Let go?” She wants to laugh at him. As if it was that easy? Just like that? Act as if the years of suffering hadn’t scarred her body and soul? His foot-falls are close now.  _ Yes, a little bit more...  _ Just as he enters her peripheral, Trilla swipes a leg out to strike at his injured one. 

“Agh!” Kestis hits the ground hard. Trilla quickly straddles him, her thighs gripping his waist tight to minimize his struggling as she leans back to use her bound hands to blindly search him. It takes a moment to find the belt, her fingers tracing it. If she could just get the chip key....

The Jedi’s droid rushes at her. Trilla rolls off of Kestis just in time to avoid getting electrocuted again. “You little pest!” She goes to stand, but is immediately yanked off balance by the Jedi, his hand around her ankle. He pulls her to the ground and with her hands still bound, she can do nothing when he pins her beneath him. Her hands are crushed painfully under her. 

They breath together, their chests heaving with adrenaline and nerves. The firm weight of him pressed against her has her heart racing. Kestis’s hands are planted on either side of her head - fingers inadvertently tangled in her hair. “Trilla...” He cants his head down as he inhales shakily, errant strands of his hair brushing her nose, “...if you could stop fighting me now, that’d be  _ really _ nice.”

“What? Getting tired?” She grunts as she hitches a leg up to wrap around his neck. He splutters in shock at her flexibility and tries to dislodge himself, but between the vice grip of her leg and his injury, he can’t react fast enough. Trilla pulls her leg down and forces him off of her. He coughs violently as she scrambles away from him. 

“What is wrong with you?” He wheezes, gripping his throat. “I thought we were getting somewhere...”

“You thought wrong!” She struggles to her feet to stand over him, “I don’t want to get  _ anywhere _ with you!”

Kestis groans, clearly frustrated, “Can’t we just call a truce? For a little while?”

Trilla’s eyes narrow at him. She had woken earlier to an unprecedented feeling. She’d been... at peace? Laying in a warm room with a mostly agreeable young man, she’d almost forgotten who she was.  _ What _ she was... And as she’d looked up to the kyber above her, she’d wondered if they could tell her. They’d been surprisingly responsive to her earlier. Wasn’t that something reserved for a more balanced force sensitive? 

She’d lain there for a time, simply breathing. Her mind turned around the situation she found herself in. When had she last been able to simply be still? When was the last time she’d let herself sleep in the presence of another? 

_ Never _ . Not in her time as an Inquisitor.

Though, with the arrival of the beasts outside the cave, Trilla’s thoughts had quickly darkened again. She was brought back to herself. To reality. The creatures were restless with the smell of prey and their anger and discontent had brushed against hers and stoked it back to life. Reminded her that she wasn’t so different from them. Designed to search and destroy. To feed on the weak to survive. And when she’d gone to wake the Jedi, Kestis had only needed to snap at her when she touched him to push her back over the edge. How  _ dare _ he tell her what to do? She wanted him to remember exactly what he was dealing with. Show him the wide chasm of a difference between them. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so petulant with her. 

It worked, but somewhere along the way she’d crossed a line she had not intended to cross - as she attempted to strangle the life out of him. “I can’t.”

“Why?” His voice is strained, from the bruising at his neck or emotion, she can’t decipher, “Are you afraid?”

She balks at that, “Why would I be afraid of  _ you _ ?”

“Trilla...”

_ He makes you weak. You can’t afford to be weak _ . The Force is so cold around her. She’s doing that, she knows, but she can’t stop the downward spiral she’s on. “I  _ hate _ you!” Trilla snarls at him, “You and your sickening Jedi righteousness! Your stubborn faith in the universe! Your misplaced compassion!” 

Kestis’s face closes off further with every word she utters. Still, he replies with a surprising softness, “I don’t hate you.”

Something cracks inside her. It bleeds.

Trilla now wishes she’d just walked out of that vault. Or, better yet, killed him then. Before he could become such a fixture in her mind. She should have scourged him from her. Cut him out like an infection. Burned him to nothingness. Anything was better than this. He was like a mirror and she hated seeing her reflection. The only difference was that he didn’t seem to loathe her as much as she loathed herself. “You’re a great fool.”

He doesn’t answer, but he does stand on his good leg to fish out something from the belt at his waist. “Turn around.”

Trilla clenches her jaw and acquiesces to him. Even though the answer is obvious, she still mutters, “What are you doing?” 

“We’re not going to get out of here if we continue like this.” The cuffs fall from her wrists. Trilla pulls her arms around herself and doesn’t turn to face him. “I don’t care what you think of me, but you do need me.” She scoffs. He continues softly, “...and I need you too.”

_ No... you don’t _ . The cave is gravely silent. Trilla goes to collect her cape and finds the furthest corner of the cavern from him. She curls against the warm stone - the crimson lining of her cloak drapes around her. His words on loop in her head. 

_ ‘I don’t hate you.  _

_ I need you, too _ .’

=+=

Cal can’t sleep. His leg is on fire. BD-1 offers him another stim and he takes it, but he suspects its not going to do him much good at this point.

He knows Trilla isn’t asleep either. He can feel her simmering in the Force. A dark form huddled in the corner like a predator waiting to ambush its prey. BD-1 had vowed to alert him if she moved, so that he could at least try to get some rest. Though, she seemed to have accepted peace between them for now. She’d refrained from attacking him the moment he let her free, but he can’t see himself putting his guard down anytime soon. 

Her pain had been as raw as an open wound. The words she’d thrown at him had hurt more than he cared to admit. They shouldn’t have, but somewhere between Bogano and this cavern Cal realizes he’d inadvertently given up space inside himself for the Inquisitor. That much was clear from the way her  _ ‘I hate you!’  _ had burned like the touch of a saber. And even though he’d felt the urge to meet her rage in kind, he found he could not. 

_ I don’t hate her.  _

He struggles with the realization. Not because he wants to resent her, but because it’s strangely easy not to. After everything, there was no malice to be found in his heart for her. 

_ She’s taken so much from you _ . 

For a reason he can’t put into words, he thinks he’ll let her take a little more. 

——

“Don’t even think about it, droid. I’ll pull you apart and scatter your pieces in the lake if you try to pull that stunt from earlier.” 

He’s burning up. Every inch of him aches. Even the dim lighting of the cavern is too much for him as he looks to see Trilla knelt at his side. He squeezes his eyes shut again, a moan falling from his lips. 

“ _ Yes _ , I’m helping him.  _ No _ , I don’t need any assistance.”

Through the haze of fever, he feels a gentle touch. Fingers graze his neck, the cool back of a hand rests on his forehead, a palm slides along his calf, feeling for the site of the trauma there. Cal flinches in agony. “ _ Don’t _ ...”

“Shut up.” 

He hears something rip and distantly registers it as his pant leg. When something cold and wet brushes the site of his wound, he nearly passes out. The pain is a white light behind his closed eyes. “ _ Please _ ...”

More tearing noises. A sense of dread washes over him. When a hand firmly grips his ankle, he is suddenly very aware of what is coming. A wad of cloth is pushed past his lips and between his teeth. He whines at the back of his throat.  _ No, no, no _ ...

“I’ll try to make this quick.” 

His leg is being bandaged tight. The agony of the bruised and shattered area being compressed pulls muffled cries from him. There is something placed at the side of his leg, a brace, and it too is wrapped against his calf, from ankle to knee. He’s hyperventilating, biting the cloth between his teeth, sucking desperate breaths through his nose. He wants to throw up. 

After what feels like an eternity, his leg is stabilized. The cloth is fished out of his mouth. “Drink.” He tries, but immediately coughs up the water he’s given. “Or  _ don’t _ ...” A quiet falls across the cavern and all Cal can hear is the sound of his labored breathing. He is in agony. He shudders when a hand goes to his temple, fingers almost caressing the side of his face. The Force is a distant balm that comes closer with each passing moment the touch lingers. The pain is still there, but it is dulling drastically. The physical relief brings mental clarity with it. Cal opens his eyes to see Trilla staring back this time. She gives him a reproachful look, “As I’ve said, you are a great fool, Cal Kestis.”

He nods. That was fair. He was the one with a fractured leg and a fever because he’d ignored it until the last minute. “Could’ve let me suffer.” He rasps out. 

Her thumb flinches against the side of his face, “There’ll be time for that later.”

“Looking forward to it...” He tips his head towards her touch involuntarily, “...what are you doing?”

Trilla’s jaw works as she seems to consider her next words, “There is a technique I learned... well,  _ read _ about...” 

Cal blinks in confusion and then jokes nervously, “Ok... so are you rewiring my brain with the Force? Or...?”

“Not exactly...” She shifts her fingers into his hairline, “This isn’t causing your psychometry to trigger, is it?”

It isn’t. Not even a bit. Cal is more baffled than before. He’s not having to actively control his ability as he usually does when he is touched so blatantly, “No, and I’m not in nearly as much pain as I was. And I know I didn’t get better just because you wrapped my leg in...” He squints down at her handiwork, ”Is that your  _ cape _ ?”

“What else was I going to use?” She huffs.

“My poncho?”

Trilla glances over at said article of clothing, “It looked too warm to sacrifice.”

“Right.” Cal grunts as he pushes himself up to sit a bit higher, “So...?” He gestures at her hand on his face.

“I’m not healing you, if that’s what you’re wondering. I don’t think I can do that even if I tried.” She is so close, he can feel the heat of her leg against his hip where she kneels beside him. “I guess you might say that I’m using the Force to... reflect your pain?”

Cal now notices the way her free hand is white knuckled in her lap, and how a bead of sweat has broken out at her temple. “Reflect it back on what?”

She shrugs, “That’s not important.”

He reaches up to take her hand from his face. “I told you before...” The pain began to ebb it’s way back into him like a slow blaze with the absence of her touch. “You’re a bad liar.”

Trilla slips her fingers from his and folds them in her lap. “It reflects the physical state back on whoever is using the technique.”

They let her words linger between them for a time. Cal considers the woman beside him and tries to reconcile her with the rage she’d radiated earlier. “Is this your way of saying  _ ‘I’m sorry for trying to murder you, Kestis.’ _ ?”

She levels a glare at him, “I don’t apologize for anything.”

“But you’ll take my pain.” Cal senses there’s some great mystery behind Trilla’s behavior. There has to be. “Why?”

“I’ve suffered worse.” She looks down at her hands, then back to him, “It was nothing.”

The pain he was feeling was definitely not nothing, and for her to take it, just for a little while, was certainly not nothing either. “And here I thought you hated me.”

Trilla frowns and shrugs, looking anywhere but at him, “Oh, I still do. But you said we needed each other, and I don’t see a way you can help me if you die on me.”

“Says the one who tried to  _ strangle _ me earlier—“

“Be quiet. You saved my life after the crash... We’re even now.”

Cal lets his eyes slip shut. He shivers, despite the warm air surrounding him. His fever hasn’t broken yet. He’s about to ask her for his poncho, when she drapes it over him, “Thank—“

“I said be  _ quiet _ .” He hears her shift to rest against the stone beside him - not touching, but near enough. Cal is acutely aware of her. “I don’t know how much of what I did is going to help, but with your leg braced, it shouldn’t get further fractured. Just stay off of it for awhile.” 

He hums in acknowledgment. 

“Go to sleep, Kestis. I’m not going to kill you after all the work I put into you.”

Cal smirks at that and does as she bids. 

=+=

Trilla watches the Jedi drift into slumber. His breathing is evening out finally. He’s a glorious mess. Flush from fever, hair falling astray about his face, his shirt collar open... She’s glad now that she didn’t kill him earlier. Though, the bruise at his neck does spark some satisfaction in her. It is a piece of her branded on him, and she likes that. 

Now that he wasn’t in immediate danger, Trilla lets her own exhaustion wash over her. Her leg aches with the phantom echo of his pain. The technique she’d used was something she’d never tried before and she wasn’t prepared for it to even work. It had been so long since she’d studied it. Her memories of years past, curled over an archive terminal, taking notes for a set of trials she never got to take, had come to her easily in the moment. As if she hadn’t spent years trying to erase every trace of her previous life. For Kestis, she’d remembered. 

_ You are weak _ . 

Trilla watches Kestis’s chest rise and fall. Listens to his breathing. Catches the way his lashes flutter occasionally. Is he dreaming? What did a Jedi dream about? 

Maybe one day she’ll remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are heating up a bit... 
> 
> here’s a spicy piece of art that was generously drawn for this chapter: https://twitter.com/ardentlyeyes/status/1323649925444349952?s=21
> 
> the artist is such a badass. pls check her out. 
> 
> find me on twitter: @acosmiclove


	3. Chapter 3

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

_ “Trilla! Trilla! Help us!” _

_ “Please... Please don’t do this—!” _

Trilla steels herself to the scene playing out before her. She is entirely conscious of the fact that nothing in this space in her mind is really happening. Not anymore. Even still, she isn’t unaffected. The endless loop of her master leaving her... the fear of being found, the agony of being ripped away from the younglings, her own screams of desperation as they call for her... their quick and brutal ends before her eyes. Over and over... The horror is as fresh as the day it occurred. 

A silent cry is on her lips as she jolts awake. The cavern comes into focus. It’s inherent peacefulness is a balm to her racing heart. Trilla sighs shakily. There are no ghosts here.

As she goes to lift a hand to wipe at her eyes, she becomes conscious of a weight pressing to her right side. A glance down shows the sleeping Jedi leaning into her shoulder. She isn’t sure when he’d moved closer in the night, but her first instinct is to push him away. 

Yet, she can’t bring herself to do it. He’s so very warm…

Kestis’s mouth is parted in his sleep. Fiery hair askew across his forehead. His lashes brush the freckles dusting his cheeks that are really only noticeable this close up. She traces his facial scars with her gaze. He was so young to have accrued so many. What stories did they tell? Trilla lifts her hand to touch the back of it to his forehead. He no longer burns with fever. A traitorous feeling, something like relief, blooms in her chest. Her right hand is tucked between his thigh and her own. She flexes her fingers and slowly lifts her hand to rest in her lap. Kestis stirs, gives a small yawn and leans more fully into her side, his face turning to nuzzle into her arm. The action awakens something in her. Something raw and sharp and warm. It settles low in her stomach. Not unpleasantly. 

Her throat tightens. She can’t afford to entertain these base emotions - they make her palms itch and her breath shallow... Trilla huffs and moves to stand, letting Kestis slump to the side in her absence. He startles awake and catches himself. “Trilla?” He rubs sleep from his eyes.

“Hm?” She smoothes her uniform down at the front, watching him watch her motion. He seems to realize he is staring. He looks down quickly.

“Uh... Thanks...” He mutters as he gingerly shifts his injured leg, “I guess I needed the help...”

“It was hardly a mercy.” Trilla waves a hand in dismissal as she goes to kneel beside the nearest bed of glowing plants, “You’re of no use to me if you aren’t well.” A large bell shaped flower yields under her fingers as she separates it from its stalk. Turning it upside down, it makes for a passable vessel. “I discovered a stream outside last night. I’m going to get water. Try not to be foolish while I’m gone.”

“You went out there in the dark?” 

BD-1 warbles, hopping after Trilla as she walks to the cave entrance. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, “Your droid lit the way.”

“Since when are you two friends?” Kestis calls incredulously after them. She doesn’t give him an answer. She’s not sure she has one.

The droid darts between her feet and leaps through the cut in the wall as she steps through, “You are too trusting, little one.” It boops back defiantly. Trilla raises a brow, “Oh? You’re an excellent judge of character? You certainly didn’t think well of me when you were sabotaging my ship and electrocuting me.”

“Bee doo boop!” It sounds almost sheepish.

The stream flows from the base of the cliff outside and runs towards the lake. In the light of the new day, Trilla can see farther into the distance. It was becoming clear that is was highly fortuitous that they had crashed in this area. From the look of it, it was a wasteland for as far as the eye could see in all directions. The lake was an oasis among the expanse of dull browns and greys. It shimmered in the pale sunlight. “Droid, about how many meters under the surface is my ship?”

“Brwww dee!” The droid patters through the stream and tilts its ‘head’ as Trilla fills the flower.

“Twelve?” She pauses as she visualizes the distance. Kestis had hauled her that far to the surface? “That’s a great distance to swim without knowing what condition it’s in.”

The droid abruptly projects a holo to her. It hovers over the stream between them. It is of the ruined interior of the starfighter. Water leaking in, sparks flying out of the console... her body suspended from her seat restraints. Kestis enters the frame, pulling desperately at the straps holding her in. “ _ Cut her free, BD-1 _ .”

The holo blinks out of existence. The droid boops a query, but Trilla is too distracted with the mental image of a disheveled Kestis clinging to her unconscious form to hear. It repeats itself. She refocuses and nods, “I agree. The cockpit doesn’t seem to be in a terribly catastrophic condition, considering everything. It might be worth it to attempt to recover the transponder.” Or at the very least, gather some supplies from the onboard storage locker.

She drinks her fill at the creek’s edge and then fills the flower for Kestis. The glow of the bloom makes the liquid inside it seem more than mere water. When she re-enters the cave, she finds him tinkering with his lightsaber. His hair hangs in his face as he leans over the long hilt, expression keenly focused on his task. The sight is unexpectedly attractive. Trilla bites the inside of her cheek -  _ hard _ . He sets the weapon aside as she approaches, “Thought you got lost out there.” He pushes his hair back into place. As he lifts his arm with the motion, Trilla glimpses his tattoo peeking from beneath his sleeve. She was still curious about that.

“Oh? Did you miss me?” The retort leaves her mouth before she can stop it. 

His brows lift a fraction at that, but to her surprise, he teases back. “Maybe if you’d been gone a little longer.” 

“I’ll... remember for next time.” Trilla replies with a little less confidence than she intended and passes him the water. Their fingers brush in the hand off. Her arm feels electrified with the brief contact. She ignores the sensation. He tilts the edge of the glowing petal to his lips, sucking the liquid down greedily. His bruised throat works as he drinks. Trilla swallows for a different reason.

She straightens her shoulders and clasps her hands behind her back as she looks down at him. She considers discussing her thoughts concerning her ship, but decides to keep them to herself. He isn’t exactly an ally, but more of an enemy she isn’t actively attempting to harm. There is no need for him to know her plans. Not yet.

Kestis sets the organic vessel to the side, frowning slightly, “Something is on your mind.”

“That’s not unusual.” She replies blandly. It’s then that she notices the way he keeps subtly shifting his bandaged leg. She kneels beside it. Kestis radiates anxiety.  _ Good. He should fear you _ . Trilla traces two fingers along the brace, “What is bothering you?”

He flinches at her touch, “I feel something pinching?”

“Be more specific.” 

Kestis gives a short exhale through his nose and leans forward, his face coming far closer to her than Trilla anticipates. She stays perfectly still. He touches a spot near the top of the brace, “It’s really tight here.”

Trilla waits for him to settle back against the wall again, and then slides a hand over the area he indicated, feeling the tension he spoke of. It was a positive sign that he felt localized discomfort instead of the all encompassing pain of his wound as he had the night before. “Aside from that, how does it feel?”

“It’s better than before.” He sits back, grimacing as Trilla pulls at the ends of the bandaging to loosen it. 

“I told you that if you stayed off your feet, you would improve.” She says imperiously.

“Yeah, after you kicked me and tackled me to the ground.” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “You probably made it worse.”

“Then perhaps you should not have restrained me.” She presses a little harder than necessary as she smooths down the strip of her cloak to the curve of his shin. He grunts.

Kestis gestures emphatically at his neck. “You tried to kill me!”

Trilla smirks at the sight of the marks she’d created on him. She lifts a hand towards him. He shrinks back reflexively. “Where’s your bravery gotten off to, Cal Kestis?” Her fingers graze the traumatized skin at the column of his neck. 

His mouth opens a fraction as he pulls in a slow breath under the pads of her fingers. The nervousness she’d sensed from him earlier is still there, but it feels like a different breed now. Their eyes meet. He doesn’t look away. “I can’t trust you, Trilla.” 

Her hand straddles his throat, perfectly covering his bruises and resting loosely against his warm flesh. She feels him swallow under her touch. “I don’t want you too.” 

And then, his hand is encircling her wrist. His grip is solid and searing against her bare skin. He doesn’t attempt to pull her away from his neck. Trilla feels a prickling sensation creeping up her arm. His eyes look at her like he’s seeing through her, “Yes, you do.”

Trilla releases him as though he’s burned her. She pushes to her feet, putting several paces between them. Rage boils up within her chest. He’d seen into her mind. She’d been too distracted to realize. It had not occurred to her that he would be so bold. She seethes, “Do not attempt to divine my thoughts again!”

“Keep your hands off of me then.” Kestis snaps back. He flexes his fingers as if trying to rid them of the feel of her. 

Trilla wasn’t used to having any respect for another’s wishes. Especially her prey’s. There were boundaries of a sort among the Inquisitors, but only because they were violently enforced. If she was prodded or pushed too far, she could lash out to put someone in their place. Or deal with the consequences if she failed to do so. Trilla had spilt her share of blood and bled the same amount trying to maintain her position in the Inquisitorius. Kestis had shown himself to be capable of getting the upper hand over her, perhaps he was owed an iota of respect for that. She wasn’t going to admit that to him though. Trilla ignores his request and makes one of her own, pointing at his waist, “If you want this truce between us to hold, return to me my lightsaber.”

Kestis is predictably resistant to the demand. His eyes narrow at her. “What do you need it for?”

“I plan to scout the area - I would prefer it’s protection.” It was a good enough reason. “And, if we are to be on even terms, it’s only fair.”

He laughs, the sound of it dry and bitter, “Fair? Since when does ‘fair’ matter to you, Second Sister?”

“I am asking nicely, Jedi.” She warns, stepping closer.

His hand falls to the hilt of his saber, the first indication that he would use it against her since they’d crashed. “I told you that I don’t trust you.” 

“Yes, you did say that…” Trilla regards the young man with a raised brow. He was very willful for someone in his position. She has no doubt she could subdue him and take her weapon by force, but that would disrupt their fragile peace, and Trilla is too interested to see what might come of their alliance to ruin it just yet. Besides, he said he didn’t trust her... She wonders if she can change that. How much fun would it be to lull him into a false sense of security and then rip it all away the moment she had him at his weakest - when he had complete faith in her? The thought should thrill her, but it only leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. “Yet, you seemed to trust me last night when I could have killed you many times over instead of helping you.”

“That’s supposed to convince me to hand over your lightsaber to you? You telling me that you spared me at my most vulnerable?” He scoffs, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “Wow, thanks for that. I guess I should just forget every terrible thing you’ve done to me.”

Trilla purses her lips, brow furrowing.  _ What a petulant boy _ . “Forget I asked.”

Kestis looks surprised to have won the argument. “That’s it?”

She shrugs, enjoying the way he exudes confusion and suspicion. “I am not interested in continuing a fruitless conversation. Your mind is clearly made up.” She turns on her heel and makes for the exit. 

“Wait!” Trilla can sense his trepidation. It’s almost endearing how reliant he is on her already. Perhaps she could exploit that. “Where exactly are you going?”

“Outside.” She answers vaguely.

“Hey...” Kestis starts. She looks over her shoulder at him. He falters, mouth opening and closing before glancing away. “...never mind.”

Trilla wonders what he was going to say all the way down to the shoreline.

=+=

Cal watches the Inquisitor disappear from the cavern for the second time that morning. The sway of her hips is prominent without her cape.  _ No. Don’t think about that. Stop. Stop it. _

BD-1 boops a query and nudges it’s master’s arm. Cal is grateful for the distraction. “What is it, little buddy?” 

“Dee boop brrw?” It hops back and forth between it’s ‘feet’ anxiously.

“Knowing her, she’ll be fine.” He pats the droid’s ‘head’, offering it a reassuring smile, “Why do you care anyway? She has caused us a lot of trouble.”

The droid’s body bobs in a sort of shrug, “Doop breep.”

“Huh. Is that so?” Cal shakes his head at his companion, “Just like that? I thought you were supposed to be a good judge of character?” The droid beeps in indignation. “Fine, fine. I’m just going to need some more convincing, I guess.”

He touches his throat. A  _ lot _ more.

Though, she was right. She could have killed him last night or at the very least taken back their weapons. She hadn’t.

The atrium is still. The waters of the hot spring are like glass save for the occasional drip of condensed steam falling from the glittering ceiling above. Cal brushes his awareness against the kyber crystals embedded in it. They respond warmly, but none feel as right as the split one in his saber beside him - it’s twin pieces hum in the fore of his mind. Dimly, he is aware of another gem close by. He takes Trilla’s saber from his belt and cradles it loosely in his hands. The kyber in it’s hilt exudes darkness. Cold as ice, but forever bleeding. He’d been too overwhelmed to properly sense the nature of the crystal when he’d held it in the vault on Bogano. Now, Trilla’s memories are only muffled echoes in his head. His psychometry is easier to control since he’s already handled the object. He lets her past leak into his mind, slow and steady. It’s just as traumatic, if not more so than the last time. Cal witnesses things he didn’t before. Trilla brandishing her saber to defend the younglings in her care, her shock and horror as they are cut down before her, more of the physical abuse she endured as they methodically broke her spirit, and the thing that ultimately turned her... the reveal of Cere’s betrayal. Her rage is all encompassing in that moment. It’s the very thing that poisoned the kyber in her saber, turning it’s emerald hue a crimson red. 

Cal pulls himself out of the vivid memory-walk. He gulps for air. Sweat beads at his forehead and he wipes it away with the back of his sleeve.  _ Would I have become like her, had our places been reversed?  _ There is no way he can know for certain. The red kyber pulses beneath his grasp. Like an erratic heartbeat. Cal clips the weapon next to the holocron. His fingers brush the elegant design at the side of the artifact. The temptation to hold the cube is strong. He resists. The vision he’d had in the vault haunts him. Would it be a mistake to find these younglings? Train them in the ways of the Force? It would make them greater targets in the eyes of the Empire... What else was he supposed to do though? He’d risked his life for this holocron. Shouldn’t he use it?

He sighs wearily. From the moment he’d been scooped up by Cere and Greez his life had been a blur of jumping between worlds, scrambling through foreign terrain, and fighting more than he’d ever had in his short existence. His time on Bracca felt like a blink away and simultaneously eons ago. He idly wonders if the guild he’d been employed under thought him dead. Would anyone there mourn him? The only person he knew would have is dead now... At the Second Sister’s hand. With the weapon at his waist. The thought turns his stomach. Cal pulls his good leg up and rests his elbow on his knee. He cradles his forehead in his palm. A shuddering breath leaves him. What would Prauf think to know he’d saved the life of the woman who’d taken his? Would Cere be disappointed in him if she could see him now?

_ What would your master say? _

There were no answers given to his wordless questions. Cal didn’t expect any. Still, he wished he had some guidance in this situation. What should he do? What could he do? He was crippled for the foreseeable future and he had to rely on someone he couldn’t really trust to help him. What was her game? Was she just toying with him like a loth cat playing with it’s prey? Cal felt uneasy in her presence, but oddly, his anxiety was worse with her gone. He couldn’t help but worry that she might not return. It was frustrating. Guilt tinged every unguarded thought he had about her. From idly observing her beauty, to the heat that she stoked within him with her touch. Cal knew a little of temptation, but no one had ever made him feel more off balance than she. 

She was too much for him when her fingers tightened around his pulse and yet, at the same time, somehow not enough. He recalls the sensation of her atop him the previous evening. It had added fuel to the burning within him. He let himself drift back to that moment. Back to the feeling of the juncture of her legs settled over his middle. Her thighs gripping his waist to keep him still. The fierce look in her eyes as her fingers searched his belt, the tips of her digits brushing so very close to another part of him... A ragged exhale leaves him at the memory. Another soon replaces it. His weight thrown on top of her, her chest heaving under his, her lips just a breath away... He couldn’t say he’d ever fought anyone so intimately. He’d felt the Force at his call during their tussle, but she hadn’t used it once, so neither had he. It was exhilarating in a way he couldn’t describe to abandon all weapons and tricks of the Force for a simple battle of strength and wit. 

He leans back and touches his face where she had caressed his pain away. With the same hand that had brutalized his throat, she’d eased the agony of his injury - taken it upon herself. Cal drags his lower lip between his teeth. What did any of this mean? What was he supposed to do with these emotions? Meditation was the obvious answer. He needed to empty his mind. Let it become as placid as the spring water nearby. Drown his passion and allow serenity to rise in its place. He closes his eyes and breathes in slowly, letting the same breath leave even slower. He tries to visualize a calm surface, a blank canvas, a silent space. A void. The cavern begins to feel... distant. It hums and shivers strangely. Cal opens his eyes and blinks in surprise. The cavern appears much the same as it had, only now there was what looked like a hole in the wall beyond the pool that had definitely not been there before. BD-1 warbles in surprise and quickly patters over to the new portal, scanning it. “Boop dee!”

“Huh...” Cal gingerly rises to put all his weight on his good leg. He knew enough of the Force’s odd ways to know he’d likely been the one to trigger this. He is almost put in mind of some of the Zeffo ruins he’d explored. Cal limps to the entrance of the tunnel, peering into it’s darkness. There were no glowing plants or kyber to be seen. Just inky blackness. “Wonder where this leads… Wanna check it out?” 

“Brrw dee!” BD-1 jumps onto his shoulder, flicking on it’s floodlamp. The illumination casts the tunnel in enough light for Cal to determine that it was likely not formed naturally, as the rest of the cave had been. This was carved out by something. Someone. Perhaps that was the reason it had been hidden... He wonders why it had chosen now to reveal itself. Why had it opened for him specifically?

Cal limps down the passage, leaving the atrium behind. Sound is strange in such close quarters. The stone absorbs every footfall and yet he can hear his own heartbeat. “BD-1, are you picking anything up on your scanner?”

“Doo.” It beeps a negative. 

The narrow path slopes gently down and to the right. Cal trails a hand along the cool stone wall to keep his balance. Trilla would be upset to know he’d disobeyed her, but she wasn’t there to stop him and besides, he felt oddly compelled to explore this new area. Cal struggles and the going is slow, but eventually his steps begin to echo and he hears a distant roaring - the passageway opens into a large chamber. There is the soft glow of the occasional patch of familiar glowing fauna, but not nearly enough light is thrown to grasp the scope of the room. BD-1 swings it’s lamp about, showing off large columns, stalagmites, and stalactites. There is the glint of kyber in this area of the cavern complex as well. And, at the far end, a waterfall descends from the ceiling and fills a dark pool beneath. Cal hobbles towards it, feeling an inexplicable pull to it’s edge. BD-1 beeps a warning, but Cal doesn’t heed it. The mist of the waterfall has slicked the cavern floor around it. His footing slips. He collapses to his good knee. The brace strains against his injury. “Ah!” He cries in agony. BD-1 beams it’s light at his leg. It is soaked where it has slipped into the plunge pool beneath the waterfall. A chill runs through him at the frigid temperature. Cal draws his leg out and lays back on the cool wet stone, calming his nerves. This close to the water, he can now perceive it’s depth. Or rather, he can’t, no matter how he stretches his awareness in the Force. The torrent simply descends without end. If he’d fallen completely in, he isn’t sure he would have been able to pull himself out. “That was close.” 

BD-1 chastises him. “Doo brww!”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Cal nudges the droid affectionately, “I don’t know what I was thinking...”

“Beep dee.”

“You’re right. This place is really strange… I’m getting a bad feeling… Let’s head back.” He carefully gets to his feet and BD-1 dutifully shines the way, making sure Cal can see every step in front of him. Just as he passes back through into the passageway, BD-1’s light abruptly goes out.

He can’t hear the waterfall anymore.

Cal realizes he’s no longer in the cavern. 

The tunnel has been replaced with a twinkling starscape. He is kneeling, yet there is nothing below him but the darkness of space. When he looks back up, a stranger is seated cross legged before him. Cal’s eyes widen, “Who are you?” He asks, his voice echoing. 

The man bridges his fingers under his chin. His long sectioned hair sways with a tilt of his head. He ignores Cal’s question. “Hm. I did not expect this. You must be somewhere strong in the Force.”

“Uh, I guess?” The kyber all around the cave likely had something to do with it. They were strong conduits of the Force, after all. He squints, trying to place where he’s seen this person before. “I wasn’t looking for anyone. Are you a Jedi?”

“At this point? Maybe. Maybe not.” The man shrugs with a faint smirk, but when he sees Cal’s puzzled look, he clarifies, “A long time ago, yes.”

“Are you...  _ dead _ ?”

“What?” The man scoffs incredulously. He pats his chest as if to feel he is still there, “Not yet, surprisingly.”

“Okay, well, the Force must have connected us for a reason.” Cal studies the man before him. He was clearly much older than him - he could have been a Jedi Master before the Purge. At the very least a Knight. He carries a saber. It is hooked to a cloth belt of sorts that Cal has the oddest feeling about as he stares at it. Like he’s seen something similar before. Recently, even.

The man rubs thoughtfully at the bridge of his nose, fingers his brushing over the yellow tattoo that spans the width of his face. “It probably did.”

Cal is  _ certain _ he knows this man. He just can’t pin down any relevant memory of him. “Why would it?”

“I don’t know, maybe I hold the answer to a question you have.” The man seems to ponder his own words. He shakes his head, “Or maybe you have something to tell me?”

“Well…” Briefly, Cal considers informing this man that he is trapped on an unknown world with an Imperial Inquisitor, but he isn’t sure that would be of any help, considering he couldn’t even say where it was they’d crashed. “I was meditating earlier.” He does admit, “Trying to clear my mind of distraction.”

“Oh? What’s got you distracted?” The stranger seems genuinely interested, leaning forward a bit, his elbows resting on his knees as he does.

Cal rubs a hand nervously at the back of his neck, “A woman, but it’s complicated... she’s my enemy.”

A deep chuckle fills the starry space around them. The man shakes his head as he reigns in his amusement and waves an apologetic hand, ”I’m sorry, it’s just that you remind me of myself, kid.”

Cal blinks in surprise. He might get the advice he wanted after all, “Really? How did you deal—?”

“I didn’t.” He cuts in, his gaze drifting to the right, staring into nothing, or perhaps remembering something. “I fell. In more ways than one.”

Cal infers what he means. “Isn’t attachment forbid—?”

“You probably have friends you care for, right? Isn’t that attachment?” The other retorts, his eyes sharp, “The Code was supposed to keep darkness from poisoning a Jedi, but it can be just as misleading and dangerous as the dark side. It discourages meaningful connection. It makes us feel alone, when we don’t need to be.”

Cal is wary. “Is that why you aren’t a Jedi anymore?” 

“It’s one reason. Whatever idealized version of the Order you remember is not the truth. You were too young to realize it’s failings.”

He dislikes the way his age is being used against him. “I have trusted in the Force and it has served me well. The way my master instructed me has not failed me yet.’

“Except that it has.” The other stresses with an outstretched hand, “You are punishing yourself for feelings of compassion towards another. You are afraid of—“

“It’s just... it’s just  _ desire _ !” Cal protests, “She’s beautiful, and I’ve noticed it... simple as that.”

“And yet, you claimed it was complicated earlier.” The man crosses his arms over his chest, “Fear is the truest enemy. It’s the first step towards doubt, pain, anger. It is what pushes us into darkness. It keeps us from reaching our true potential as beings.”

“I am not afraid...” Cal lies lamely. “I have overcome so much...”

“So, overcome this as well.” The stranger says in challenge, “Give in to your emotions or don’t, but do not make a decision out of fear.”

Cal feels more conflicted than he had before. He’d been so sure of what he was meant to do. And now? Now he worries that this former Jedi could be right. “You don’t understand. She’s tried to  _ kill _ me, she’s hurt so many... I shouldn’t—”

“Oh, but I do understand.” The man rises to his feet and as he does Cal notices how weary he seems. He is looking past Cal as he speaks, “She still has a choice to be better. Even if that choice comes a little late. You might help her make that decision.”

“I’ve  _ tried— _ “ Whatever Cal is about to say dies on his lips. The vision abruptly ends. He is left confused and alone. Well, not completely. BD-1 chirps in his ear, confused as to why Cal had been standing still for so long. “It’s kinda hard to explain, buddy.” 

The Force works strangely. He’s had enough visions to be familiar with it’s peculiarities, but what he’d just experienced... that had been something new. Connecting with another living being somewhere else in the galaxy via the Force? Seeing them as though they were really there? Cal had never heard of such a thing occurring. It was a lot to process. Especially considering the subject of the conversation. And who  _ was _ that man anyway?

The return walk to the hot spring grotto is more difficult than the trek away from it. It’s an uphill climb and with Cal’s wet feet, he works to keep himself upright. Aside from the physical strain, he also continues to feel the tug of that bottomless pool even as he gets farther away from it. By the time he’s nearly back to where he began, Cal has worked up a sweat. The light of the atrium shines invitingly before him, but just as he’s about to step into it, he stops short. Something is  _ wrong _ . He pauses to brace against the wall and then limps his way fully into the room. 

He sees the source of his dread immediately.

Trilla is collapsed, motionless, just inside the saber-cut entrance. 

=+=

Trilla backtracks to the small beach Kestis had dragged her onto after the crash. It takes far less time to get there without the Jedi to slow her down. The water laps at the pebbled shore. She notices where the sand is still disturbed from the previous day. The memory of being cradled, waking to Kestis’s worry lined face... the warmth he radiated... the echo of it shivers through her.  _ It was nothing. Only his absurd compassion made him hold you so close.  _

Trilla hesitates at the water’s edge. She has the vaguest idea of where the wreck is. Once in the water, she would need to rely on her senses to guide her down to it.  _ Perhaps you should have asked the droid to accompany you _ .  _ It could have shown you the way. _

Her boots stay at the beach. They were an unnecessary weight and hindrance. The water shocks her breath from her as she wades in. Trilla bites her tongue and reaches inward in the Force, grasping at the embers of her tired rage, trying to distract herself from the cold. Once she has swum out a ways, she stretches out in the Force, searching for the drowned fighter. The ecosystem of the lake is a subtle hum, but something is disrupting it’s balance. It can only be one thing. Trilla takes a full breath and dives. She doesn’t exert more energy than she has to to propel herself down. It is a long, dark descent, the water getting colder the further she goes. The disturbance below her finally comes into focus in her mind. She can’t see the TIE, but as she nears it, she reaches out a hand to guide herself. Her fingers knock against one of the solar panel wings. Relief floods her as she pulls herself along the structure to the blown out hatch. Her lungs are already burning and her ears ache at the depth. Once inside, Trilla feels her way around the cramped and ruined interior. The console was dead, but there was still a chance auxiliary power was functional. Her fingers drag over the emergency lighting, and she is pleased to see a red glow bring the space to life. The transponder is fixed beneath the comms terminal - beyond that, she isn’t sure how to remove it. Trilla pulls blindly at the box shape, but it doesn’t budge. It wasn’t wise to use brute force to extract it - especially with how little air she had to spare.  _ You’ll need to come back. _ Her head is beginning to feel light. Trilla abandons the console. There was still a way to make this trip worth it. She drifts to the back of the ship and uses the Force to open a supply locker there. A large bubble of air escapes. She sighs internally as the precious oxygen disappears out the hatch above her. Trilla grabs at the contents of the locker. It’s a lot to carry, but it’s all useful. Once she has everything securely wrapped in a loose piece of insulation she’d spotted drifting near her, she floats up and out of the ship. 

Something darts by in the dim red glow now emanating from the ruined sphere of the TIE. Trilla’s eyes widen as she catches sight of a dark form skating towards her through the frigid water. She pushes wildly away from it, the Force aiding her only fractionally in her oxygen starved state. While she’s preoccupied with the lake creature circling her, another enters her awareness too late to be avoided. Trilla feels the pinch of teeth go through her uniform and into her bicep. She wrenches free. 

Pain is always a good motivator. 

The last four meters blink by. Trilla gasps and coughs as she emerges into the fresh air. The creatures have retreated, curiously, even with her blood flowing freely into the water. She can feel them descending back into the depths. Perhaps a bigger predator is nearby... The thought alone spurs her back to the beach in a hurry. She staggers from the water and sprawls ungracefully onto the sand. This was definitely not her finest moment. Her arm stings with every movement. A glance at it has her groaning, “Damn it.” Her sleeve is shredded, the wound revealed. She can smell the tang of her blood.

The bundle of supplies she’d acquired contained what was needed to treat her injury, but she doubted she could do more than a passable job with only one hand. Fortunately, she knew someone with two perfectly capable ones… The thought of the Jedi tending her injury was a sour one at first, but with further visualization… she warms to the idea.  _ You’re disgraceful _ .

Her dry boots are a small comfort as she makes her way back to the cave, but as she approaches it, she begins to feel dizzy. Her arm has gone numb. She’s freezing. Trilla stumbles through the outer cave towards the warmth of the hot spring hideaway. “Kestis...” His name sounds small in her mouth. She barely makes it into the room. The ground comes up to meet her. With the last of her consciousness, she searches for the Jedi’s presence. She feels nothing of him as the darkness takes her.

——

Trilla is awoken by the warmth of hands flitting over her. She smells bacta. It’s scent is something she is well acquainted with. She feels the tight wrap of bandaging looping around her wound. Her arm aches, which means she can feel it again. _ That’s good _ . Trilla registers that she is laying on her back. Kyber twinkles above her. Her eyes focus on movement to her right. “Kestis?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” The Jedi touches the bare skin of her uninjured shoulder. Trilla realizes she isn’t wearing her uniform jacket anymore. He must have removed it. The fact unnerves her less than it should have. She feels his fingers brush her wet hair back from her face. The gesture is soft. Too soft for her to know how to feel about it. Their eyes catch each other’s as he moves a strand from where it lay across her nose. He flushes and clears his throat, “What happened to you? It looks like you were attacked by something.”

“A local lake inhabitant took issue with me.” Trilla sees that the contents of the bundle she’d brought back are strewn around them. The emergency medpac is open, but there is also a survival kit, and a tool case. All with the standard of the Empire stamped obnoxiously upon them. “But, I was able to requisition a few items.”

“From the TIE.” He states, not a question. Did she detect a hint of displeasure in his voice?

“I was originally attempting to retrieve the transponder...” Trilla winces as she sits up, “...but I miscalculated the skill required to remove it.”

“You could have drowned.” Kestis bites out, frustration now clear in his voice, “I wouldn’t have known—“ He falls quiet as a shiver wracks her frame. The exposed skin of her arms rises with the chill. Kestis uses the Force to call his poncho from across the room to his hands. “Here.” Trilla frowns at his offering of the bulky article of clothing, but the potential reprieve from the cold it offers is too tempting to pass up. She accepts it. She slips the warm weight of it over her head and she feels Kestis pulling the back of it down, straightening it for her. His fingers graze her back as he does so. Again, she is both charmed and bothered by his actions. A nauseating combination of emotions. “It’s only fair, since what’s left of your cape is wrapped around my leg.”

She ‘tsk’s at that, finding it a poor equivalent. Her thoughts shift, “Where were you? When I returned, you weren’t here.” The Jedi makes the mistake of looking down at his leg. Trilla follows his gaze. The makeshift wrap around his calf is soaked. What exactly had he been up to in her absence? “ _ Kestis _ ...” 

“Um, well...” He gestures vaguely to the wall just beyond the hot spring pool. “I was meditating, and then that tunnel appeared and—“

“What tunnel?” 

The Jedi blinks at her and then looks back to the wall, “...there  _ was _ one.”

They stare at each other in bafflement. Trilla doesn’t sense any deception in him. He is completely convinced of what he is saying. “So where is it then?”

Kestis pushes himself to his feet and shuffles to the wall. He presses a hand to it, shaking his head. “I swear it was just here. I don’t understand...”

Trilla stands and joins him. She lays an open palm beside his on the stone face. The Force reveals nothing to her, “Let’s say that I believe your ridiculous claim. Where did this vanishing hole in the wall of yours lead?”

Kestis is distraught as he rakes his hair back and gesticulates with his free hand, “It was a long hallway that ended at a large chamber. There was a waterfall there.” 

She sighs long-sufferingly, “Of course you would wander deeper into the cavern on a crippled leg. You are constantly proving yourself a fool, Kestis—“

“Hey!” He sets his hands on his hips, “You went down to the wreck without telling me! Something even tried to  _ eat _ you! I only slipped and got a little wet!”

Silence stretches between them. Their eyes convey a wordless battle of wills. Trilla breaks first. “This passageway... was it some trickery of the Force?” 

He nods, “I guess so. I don’t know why though. There wasn’t much to see down there. Just more kyber and the waterfall.” 

“You said you had been meditating.” Many things could be achieved through communion with the Force. Some of those things were beyond comprehension. “Did something happen when you did?”

“No.” He says too quickly. 

Trilla arches a brow, “You are lying to me.”

“No, it wasn’t  _ while _ I was meditating… It was.. It was nothing...” Kestis waves her off as he wanders back to the pile of supplies. He begins putting away the contents of the medical pack. With how haphazardly it’s contents are scattered about, Trilla assumes he must have torn into it in a hurry.  _ For you _ .

“If you say so.” She would let this go for now, but his story had her wary. If what he said was true, then this place could be more dangerous than it seemed. She collects her other scavenged items and her discarded uniform top and brings them back to the wall they’d slept against the previous night. Kestis joins her a minute later. He slowly lowers himself beside her. As if she’d invited him to sit so close.  _ How annoying _ . He is in obvious pain as he stretches his leg before him. She is tempted to chastise him again about his continued use of his injured limb, but why should she continue waste her energy on such a futile thing? At this point, he could permanently cripple himself for all she cared. Because she didn’t care. Not at all. 

Trilla unseals the emergency survival kit and picks at it’s contents. A scoff of disbelief escapes her after a moment of searching, “I’m going to find the idiot who thought it made sense to include eating utensils in this kit, but not even an ounce of rations...” She holds the small eating implement before her and regards it with disgust, “...and I am going to end their useless existence.”

Kestis snorts at that, “The Empire failing to properly equip their personnel doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“The Republic wasn’t much better.” Trilla pulls out a very rudimentary sewing kit. “I once put in a request for a new set of robes and what I received was a crate full of bolo balls.” 

A ripple of surprise is felt from the Jedi. Trilla doesn’t look at him. She pulls her uniform into her lap and pokes her fingers through the torn sleeve. It had been a stupid thing to mention the past. A momentary lapse of judgment.  _ You are having more of those. You are remembering what you know you shouldn’t... _ She pokes the needle aggressively through the thick, still wet material.

“Trilla...?” Kestis starts, but seems to think better of whatever nonsense he’d undoubtedly planned to say - and trades that for some different sort of idiocy, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

She’s affronted by his skeptical tone. She had received practical skills training as a padawan - the Jedi had considered it valuable to know how to patch one’s own garments when able, rather than having to rely on someone else to do it. Only, Trilla hadn’t needed to use this particular skill in years. “Of course I do!”

“Ok, well... I was just going to suggest that you turn it inside out to sew it and maybe let it dry first?” Kestis scratches at his jaw sheepishly, “But go ahead...”

“Shut up.” She growls and impulsively chucks the uniform at him. He leans back to avoid being hit. It lands on top of the droid sitting just beyond Kestis. It emits a shrill sequence of beeps as it wriggles beneath the wet fabric.

The Jedi frees his droid and spreads the garment out to dry on the stone beside him. “That wasn’t very nice, Trilla.” His tone is mock hurt, a smirk barely concealed. 

Trilla tries to maintain her irritation towards him, but it is difficult when he is looking at her like that. She is tempted to wipe his smile from his lips, but she is conflicted on how exactly she’d do it. With a violent touch, or perhaps in some much more mutually satisfying way…? “I’m not a very nice person.” 

He shakes his head, his smile fading a fraction as he looks down at his injured leg. The bandage was in need of changing since it had gotten wet. Trilla shifts closer to him, hands batting his away from where he was trying to find the end of the bandage. He huffs, “You  _ just _ said you weren't a very nice—  _ ow _ !”

She rips the bandage at it’s edge, jostling his leg more roughly than necessary, “You were saying?”

Kestis opts to keep his mouth shut until she unwraps the old cloth and lets the brace fall away. He picks it up and studies it. “Is this... a  _ bone _ ?” 

“Fitting, isn’t it? Truthfully, it was the only suitable thing I could find to use.” Trilla sweeps her unruly hair out of her eyes and behind her ears as she reaches for the bandaging in the medpac. It would serve better than the strips from her cloak. She also takes out a bacta patch. It wasn’t as effective as a bacta tank when it came to healing bone, but it would help. “Likely a past victim of those creatures I scared away yesterday.”

“Yeah...” He sets it down, clenching and unclenching his fingers after he does so. “You’re right.”

Trilla belatedly realizes that he’d used his psychometry to determine that fact. She wonders what it is like to see through an animal’s eyes? Not that she envies his rare ability. It seems more of a burden than anything. She lays the bacta patch over his bruised and battered shin. His knee flinches, but he makes no sound. His continued silence is making her second guess her every touch to his bare skin. She hates how he has her on edge. Once she has finished wrapping his leg, using the bone as a brace again, Trilla puts some distance between them. She stacks the supplies against the sloped wall and when she turns back to Kestis, he is staring at her. “What is it?” Her tone is clipped.

“I... sorry, I just...” He looks to the side, and then back at her, an artificial smile tipping one side of his mouth up, “I was just realizing that it’s been nearly a full day cycle since you last tried to kill me.”

“Aha.” Trilla laughs once. “Are you looking for me to restart that clock?”

He holds up his hands in a placating gesture, “No, no...”

A congenial atmosphere settles over them. Kestis has her pass him the tool box and summons his droid to him. He takes it in his hands, inspecting it and occasionally asking it questions about it’s functions and making small adjustments. Still feeling a chill from her earlier swim, Trilla tucks her limbs inside the poncho. She’s beginning to see it’s appeal. It was quite comfortable, despite it’s obtuse nature. Her fingers idly graze the bandage on her arm from under the cover of the oversized garment. “You are adept at administering medical aid, despite your lack of self preservation.”

Kestis shrugs, ignoring her verbal barb, still focused on tightening a servo on BD-1. “The scrapyards were dangerous. I saw lost limbs, severe burns, lacerations... everything in between.” He rubs at the scarred bridge of his nose, “There were hardly ever any medics available on site. We had to take care of our own.”

“Oh? So I’m one of yours, then?” She says, her tone low and teasing. His eyes are wide as they flick up to hers. Her dark smirk fades fast. The words had left her mouth far too easily. She hadn’t measured them against her intention to make him feel bad for treating her injury and now she couldn’t just take them back. The implication hung between them.

Kestis recovers and he gives a small huff, almost a chuckle, “No. You’re a terrible scrapper. You couldn’t even get the transponder out of your TIE, which is actually really easy, by the way.” She rolls her eyes at his cockiness. His voice drops a fraction as he continues, “And you broke the biggest rule of scrapping.”

She humors him, “And what is that?”

“If you’re taking a risk, take it with someone else present. So that they can either help you, or report your death if you mess up.”

“That is a sagacious mindset.” It was similar to how the Inquisitorius operated. Well, most of the time. She doubts the Ninth Sister would have fallen at this Jedi’s hand if she had been there to assist her. Not that she minded the outcome. Ninth had become a thorn in her side in the weeks leading up to her demise. “Though, I prefer to work alone.”

“Your fellow Inquisitors don’t make for good company?” He quips as he sets BD-1 aside. 

Trilla snorts at that, “I have humiliated them all in combat at least once. I doubt they harbor thoughts of camaraderie towards me.”

“And what about me?” He cups his chin in his palm as he props his elbow on his good knee. 

“As an unwilling companion? You are entertaining at best, and an absolute headache at your worst.”

A small sound of indignation leaves him, “I’m not  _ that _ bad... Wait, you think I’m entertaining?”

“In the sense that your foolhardiness is amusing.” Trilla deadpans. 

Kestis laughs. It’s a real one too. She hadn’t meant to elicit that reaction. It was unsettling how comfortable he seemed with her in this moment. How at ease they both were becoming with each other… Trilla still had every intention of delivering him to her masters to see him become an Inquisitor or watch him die if he couldn’t be turned. She would prefer he stay alive, if only to feel the satisfaction of his fall from the light. Would it be gratifying? She wonders. Would breaking his spirit and remaking him into some twisted version of himself look like a victory to her?

She knows her heart’s answer to these questions, but she refuses to acknowledge them. Her mission is clear. This situation they’d found themselves in was merely delaying the inevitable. When she returns to the Fortress, she will be asked to give a debrief, and if she doesn’t provide an accurate account of events, her mind will be probed for the truth. Already she had made too many mistakes with Kestis. Shown too much grace and compassion. If the Grand Inquisitor knew, he would punish her severely. He likely would regardless, for how badly she’d botched her mission. 

Fear blooms in her. It was improbable that her return would garner her the favor she had desired. Even with the Jedi and the holocron, her actions would be subject to heavy suspicion. Inquisitors, even those working solo, were kept on a tight leash. Going dark for days was highly irregular and Trilla had seen many cut from the program for failing to report on schedule. Even if she was second in rank only to the Grand Inquisitor, any excuse would be met with distrust. Every Inquisitor was a former Jedi - and that fact was never forgotten.

So, perhaps her mission wasn’t so clear anymore. Maybe her life course was irrevocably thrown the moment her TIE tumbled out of hyperspace. What then, was she supposed to do? Continue on as she’d planned and hope the Empire was merciful? The alternative was just as uncertain and terrifying to consider. Even though this was the perfect opportunity. The moment she’d waited for in her first year as an Inquisitor that had never come. She could defect.

A divergence of paths lies clearly before her.

One of those paths is pressing a hand to his middle, a pout on his mouth as he complains, “We should find some food tomorrow - I’m so hungry, I could eat an entire nerf.”

She arches a brow at his juvenile exaggeration, but has to agree with him concerning their need. “There is no ‘we’, Jedi. Tomorrow, you will remain here again. I will acquire sustenance for us both, and you will teach me how to remove the transponder from my ship.”

Kestis cocks his head to the side and his brow furrows, “You’re going back down there so soon? You should let your arm heal a little before you make the dive.”

“The sooner I retrieve the transponder, the sooner we can leave this place.” Trilla counters.

“Excuse me if I’m not in a rush to go anywhere - you’ve made it clear that nothing good awaits me at the end of this.” 

“Are you so sure?” She gestures towards their weapons at his waist, “You’re the one holding all the cards, Kestis.”

“We both know that’s not really true. Besides,” He extends her saber to her, “You might need this when you go down to the wreck, just in case you run into whatever it was that attacked you before.”

Trilla takes the offered weapon, “You’re making a mistake, giving this back to me.”

“We’ll see.” He says as if he knows something she doesn’t.

Her saber is heavy in her hand - a familiar weight, though not exactly a welcome one. The bleeding kyber inside the hilt responds to her and she feels a heady discomfort at it’s shattered song. Like a cry only she can hear. “I suppose we shall.”

____

Trilla curls up on the warm stone floor. The poncho’s hood makes for a passable cushion to rest her head on. She’s turned towards the Jedi. He reclines against the wall beside her, eyes shut, though he’s not asleep yet. There is no real reason for them to rest next to each other. It had been an unspoken decision that they did not dare openly question, for fear this tentative peace between them would be broken.

Her eyes widen a fraction when he lays his hand palm up on the ground between them. Almost as if he is offering it to her. Her fingers twitch. What would he do if she took it? 

_ Your indecision is pathetic _ .  _ If you want him, just take him. Use him. Get him out of your system. _

She bites her tongue to quiet her intrusive thoughts and rolls over. 

_ Or don’t. _

Her eyes focus on the supplies nearby. The symbol of her allegiance emblazoned on the containers is a rude reminder of reality. It didn’t matter at this point if she could go back to the Empire or not - there was no reconciling what she’d done on it’s behalf. 

“Trilla?”

She doesn’t answer.   


Sleep doesn’t come to either of them for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohohooo who is that mystery jedi? why is he relevant to this story? hmm?
> 
> find me on twitter: @acosmiclove


	4. Chapter 4

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

Cal wasn’t unaccustomed to uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. On Bracca, he’d only had a thin mattress to rest on. Most days he’d returned to it so tired that he didn’t mind the way it was almost completely worn out in the center. Prauf had told him he knew someone that might have a nicer one...

The cot Greez had set him up with on the  _ Mantis _ wasn’t much to speak of either, but it was warmer than the scrap yards - being so close to the ship’s engine compartment. Sometimes it was too warm.On multiple occasions, he’d stripped down to his shorts and shoved his blanket down by his feet when the engine had been running at full power overnight.

Even still, Cal could hardly remember a time he’d slept so rough. He’d apparently shifted from a sitting position against the cave wall to a slumped one some time in the night. His neck protests every movement as he straightens and lifts his arms one at a time in a stretch above his head. His spine cracks satisfyingly. He grunts low as he rolls his shoulders back. A joint pops. 

His hands rub over his face, trying to wake himself up. The pads of his fingers brush the sandpaper scruff just starting to grow on his jaw and chin. 

In his peripheral, he catches his unlikely companion stirring. She turns to lay on her back, the hood of his poncho coming to rest halfway over her face as she does. With a huff, she lifts a hand to push it back. It takes a few tries on her part to get the hood tucked behind her head. It’s then that he notices just how wavy, nearing curly, her hair has become. It had progressively lost it’s straight appearance since they’d crashed. Perhaps this is its natural state? 

It’s…  _ nice _ .

“You’ve been staring at me for the last minute and a half - is there something you require?” She sounds annoyed, but Cal is beginning to divine the subtle differences in her tones. This was more of a teasing question than an expression of her ire. 

He shrugs before yawning and rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. A sly smile curves his lips as he says as nonchalantly as possible. “One roba steak, medium rare.”

“Oh, of course. Coming  _ right _ up.” She says sarcastically as she pushes herself to a sitting position. Her chest rises and falls with a slow, full, inhale and exhale. Cal is momentarily mesmerized by her. The way she twists to the side, stretching her back. How she tucks her loose hair behind her ear. In the way she eyes him from beneath her lashes, “How does your leg fare now?”

Cal blinks out of his shameless ogling and pivots his knee back and forth. The pain is still there, but it’s dimmed compared to the previous day, “I think it’s actually healing now... Thanks to you.” Trilla doesn’t say anything to that. He’s noticed that she doesn’t seem comfortable with his expressions of gratitude. He gestures to her arm, “Do you want me to change your bandages?”

Trilla touches her bicep, pressing at the injury site. She shakes her head, “It’s not necessary yet.” 

“Well, just let me know…” His stomach decides then that it's a fantastic time to growl.

She raises a single brow at that. “I will find us something to eat.” Her voice lowers a fraction, “Will you be a good Jedi and refrain from any more foolish cave exploration while I am gone?”

Heat creeps into his face, “I’ll do my best.”

“Hm. That’s hardly reassuring.” She stands in a single graceful movement. BD-1 perks up beside Cal. It warbles a soft query. Both Cal and Trilla turn towards it, surprised. Trilla cocks her hip and rests a hand on it. She beckons to the droid with the other, “Fine. You may accompany me.” He watches his droid leap onto Trilla’s shoulder. She isn’t able to hide the startled look that flashes across her face.

“BD-1, you’re just going to leave me here? All alone?” Cal says with mock hurt. The droid beeps a consolatory line at him. “Uh huh, why don’t you just admit you like her more than me?”

BD-1 vehemently beeps in protest at Cal as Trilla gathers her crimson palmed gloves and tugs them on. The sight of her flexing her fingers into the tight leather kills the playful response Cal was about to give BD-1.  _ Oh _ ... He swallows. His gaze flicks up to hers. Her expression is almost suspicious. “Is something the matter, Kestis?”

“N-No…” She doesn’t look convinced, and he doesn’t blame her. He clears his throat and nervously smooths his hair back, “Just… ah, happy hunting, I guess?”

Trilla rolls her eyes and promptly turns to leave without any further words or farewell, though BD-1 does wave at him with one of its ‘feet’ as they disappear into the outside world. Very faintly, Cal can make out sunlight through the hole in the wall. He sighs, frustrated. This was the first time in his life he’d been so incapacitated. The feeling of helplessness that came along with his immobility was finally getting to him...

That is, until his eyes landed on Trilla’s uniform jacket laid out beside him.

Picking it up, he feels that it is mostly dry. The collar is thicker than the rest of it, so it’s still a bit damp. Cal turns it inside out. It is well made, he notes. It had likely been tailored specifically for her.  _ Interesting _ ... Cal calls the sewing supplies to his hands. He takes the already threaded needle between his fingers and sets to work. After a short time, he notices that the garment has a particular scent. The acrid tang of her blood is present from the torn edges of her sleeve - which he expects, but there is something else. Something subtler. Cal pauses, and after a moment’s hesitation, lifts the fabric to his face. He breathes in. There’s nothing inherently familiar about the smell - no single note of anything he can recognize. Heat blooms low in him as he takes another deep inhale. It’s just…  _ her _ .

He abruptly drops the uniform back into his lap.  _ What are you doing? _ His fingers curl into the dark fabric.  _ You’re just making this harder for yourself _ . Cal shifts back against the wall, canting his good leg out bit to accommodate for his growing...  _ discomfort _ . His chest heaves in a sigh that does little to clear his mind. The scent of her is embedded in his senses now, and his body hasn’t come to terms with it just yet. Taking the needle up again, he does his best to finish his task. After a few pauses to readjust himself, he finishes and turns the garment right side out to inspect his handiwork. It’s solid stitching, if a little uneven. 

The temptation to raise it to his nose once more is strong, but he finds the strength to fold it and lay it aside. Now though, he was left with nothing else to busy himself with… aside from the issue between his legs. Cal grits his teeth and leans his head back against the wall.  _ No. It’s not an option. You’re above that.  _

_ Am I? _

=+=

Trilla follows the stream down to the lakeshore. The soft sound of it flowing over it’s gravel bed is almost calming. For once, there was no hurry to her movements. No bitterness on her tongue, ready to lash orders at her subordinates. With time and distance from the hand of the Empire, the tension in her was slowly unwinding. She hadn’t realized the constant stress she’d been under until it had begun to melt away. It was relieving and terrifying at the same time. The torturous conditioning she’d endured was still there, but it wasn’t at the forefront of her mind anymore. Was that an indication of weakness or strength? She couldn’t tell. 

The stream widens where it runs into the larger body of water. The droid shifts from the back of her right shoulder to her left, beeping as it’s scanner’s light falls upon a patch of low profile grasses growing from the shallow water. It warbles it’s findings. Trilla hums acknowledgment and files away the flora’s edibility. But she wasn’t here to harvest grass, she was after something far more substantial. Kneeling at the water’s edge, Trilla takes two deep breaths, letting the tension in her body dissolve. Well, most of it. Her hands are still clenched atop her thighs. She slowly uncurls them - her gloved fingers splaying out. Eyes closed, Trilla allows the Force to move through her and show her the life beyond herself. Surrounding her. The lake was like one large living organism in the way it’s ecosystem was tightly knit. She’d already come to realize this, but looking closer, feeling more acutely, Trilla can make out the small auras of swimming creatures near her position on the beach. 

Narrowing in on one in particular, she lifts her right hand towards the surface of the lake. She can almost feel it’s pulse under her fingertips. With a flick of her wrist and a claw grip, Trilla draws the fish from the water with the Force. Eyes open now, she holds the sizable catch suspended before her. It wriggles futilely. She easily crushes it’s life force with a small flinch of her hand. It goes limp. BD-1 beeps as it finishes scanning the fish. Trilla takes the bounty by its tail and stands, “You scan so many things - your memory core must be getting crowded by now.”

The droid does not perceive her sarcasm and proceeds to whistle a prideful declaration of its military grade data banks. That’s not too much of a curiosity, considering it’s primary prerogative as an exploration droid. She knew that Kestis had modified it, but Trilla had a suspicion that before it had come to him, someone else had tweaked it’s programming and bolstered it’s tech. 

_ Cordova, no doubt. _

Her thoughts turned to her former master’s master. She had met the eccentric man a few times as a padawan, but he’d never paid her much mind. He barely even acknowledged Cere, his former apprentice - his mind had always been in the stars, his mouth constantly spewing some rapturous theory about ancient civilizations. To be honest, she’d been surprised he’d turned his efforts away from the past for once and had the forethought to safeguard the future of the Jedi in a holocron. 

The holocron that she now had access to. Kestis might think he possesses it, but in reality, Trilla considers it hers to claim when she wills it. Just because he kept it at his side didn’t make it safe from her. She could take it as soon as he fell asleep. He was so foolishly unguarded around her. It was laughable. Had he so easily forgotten just who she was?  _ What _ she was? 

_ It’s  _ you _ who has forgotten _ .

Trilla frowns to herself.  _ No. I’m in control. My cooperation with him is just to lull him into a false sense of security. I will do what I must in the end. _

What would the end look like though? She’d already come to realize that returning to the Empire was likely not in her best interest at this point, but that didn’t mean she needed to genuinely befriend the Jedi. She would use him to escape this rock and then she would get her vengeance. Starting with her traitorous master. 

_ Yes, what better way to get to her than through the Jedi? _

A tentative plan was beginning to take shape in her mind. All she needed to do was keep focused and not become too distracted by…  _ him _ .

Trilla bit her tongue at the unbidden memory of Kestis in the hot spring, flesh flushed from the extreme heat of the water. The way his ridiculously red hair had draped over his striking features. How toned and defined his chest had been… A testament to his training and the years he’d spent as a scrapper. He was far from unattractive, she would admit.  _ You’ve known that since you first saw him, you just didn’t want to acknowledge it. _

Granted, his physical appearance had been but a footnote in that moment on Bracca. Trilla had been too gleeful to have uncovered the Jedi through the death of his foolish friend. The intense pain he’d projected as he raised his blade to hers for the first time - it had tasted so sweet. To know she’d caused it and that she’d drawn him out through it...

In retrospect, she couldn’t feel even an echo of that moment’s satisfaction. 

Just before she re-enters the cavern, Trilla looks back towards the lake. To the sky above it. Grey clouds were gathering fast. The already cool air became cooler with a swift breeze. It seemed foul weather was imminent.

——

The Jedi’s eyes widen at the sight of her catch. “Wow.”

“Did you think I would return with anything less?” She preens. 

Kestis gives her a half shrug and a small smile, “I didn’t know what to expect, honestly.”

“Well, it’s not roba steak, but something tells me your stomach won't mind the difference.” She quips and then sets about gathering a number of stones to create a raised bed to lay the fish upon. She ignites one half of her saber to cut off the head and the tail. There’s not much use in bothering with the scales. They could just peel them off after cooking. She then rummages in the survival kit until she finds two small cooking canisters. Trilla places them beneath the fish in the midst of the rocks, creating a rudimentary grill. She turns them on and stands to her full height. It would do. She peels her gloves off and tosses them aside. They smell strongly after handling the fish.

Kestis clears his throat as she admires her work, prompting her to turn to him. He holds her uniform jacket out to her. Trilla takes it. Her fingers find and brush over the raised line of thread on her sleeve where the tear used to be. “Mending your enemy’s clothes? Seems a waste of energy.”

“I didn’t have anything else to do.”

“Of course.” Trilla studies him. He looks past her as he scratches at the scar on his jaw, a nervous tick. She raises a brow, “It seems you stayed out of trouble like I asked, then?”

“Yeah…”

Was he…  _ blushing _ ?

Trilla has little clue what he is trying to hide, but she does find his flustered appearance to be strangely satisfying. She’ll let it slide. For now. “I suspect this means you want this back?” She picks at the front of his poncho she still wore. 

His eyes travel the length of her body in a way that catches her off guard. “Eventually.”

They stare at each other. Trilla feels tense. Not the sort of tension she might feel at the edge of combat, but something similar… it was how she’d felt when he’d pinned her beneath him. 

_ You know exactly what this is _ . 

Trilla tosses the uniform back at him and he catches it. “Black will suit you as an Inquisitor.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought about it.” He says, low. 

She blinks at him in silent shock. 

Was he…  _ flirting? _

“And what if I have?”

He falters, “I…uh...um...”

“Don’t hurt yourself.” She rolls her eyes and turns to attend their food. Trilla lays out the bit of thermal insulation she’d used to bring the supplies up from the TIE and guides the cooked fish to rest on it between her and Kestis. It was a primitive set up, to be sure, but the Jedi doesn’t seem to have any complaints. He reaches for the slightly charred meat. Trilla is compelled to swat his hand away. She resists the urge, but does scold, “Do you have a great desire to be burned, Kestis?”

He hesitates, “It smells so good.”

“Sometimes I forget what a child you are.” 

“Hey!” He narrows his eyes, clearly offended. His voice drops as if trying to prove his manhood, “I am  _ not! _ ”

“And you are far too easy to provoke.” Trilla shakes her head as she procures the emergency pack and rummages through it. She finds the small knife that had been included. It was a pitiful thing, but it would suit their needs. With a deft slice, she fillets the fish, removing most of its scales. The meat beneath is a light pink hue, even when cooked through. It steams enticingly. Her mouth waters. It finally hits her just how hungry she’d been. She cuts herself a large piece and passes the knife to the Jedi. At the first bite, the meat melts in her mouth. A small moan escapes her. 

Kestis hisses at the heat as he picks up his own slice. He has a similar reaction to the taste. “This is  _ way _ better than roba steak.”

They eat in silence after that.

It’s odd. Perhaps the oddest moment between them so far. To be sitting and sharing a meal together. No malice between them. Consuming the same flesh. Hands nearly brushing as they reach for more. It is surprisingly... intimate? Trilla can’t help but glance up to watch him eat when he isn’t looking. The way he licks his fingers after finishing each piece of meat. How his eyes close at the taste… She feels warm at the sight. 

_ How would those lips feel against—? _

Trilla takes a sharp breath and subsequently coughs as she’s swallowing. Kestis perks up and raises a brow at her in question. 

She recovers and clears her throat, acting like nothing occurred. The Jedi quickly turns his full attention back to his food. He licks his fingers again. Trilla can’t look away. 

This was officially getting out of hand. 

——

Later, once they’d polished off the last of the fish, Trilla ventures out to retrieve more water. The emergency kit had included a collapsible canteen and she fills it to its brim. The sky is darker now, even though it couldn’t have been mid day. Rain fell in soft splashes around her. She tugs the hood of Kestis’s poncho over her face. The oily, metallic scent that clung to the waterproofed material fills her nose more fully. It is the smell of Bracca. It will likely never fade from the fabric. 

It also smells of sweat mixed with a warm touch of something distinctly  _ him _ . She had fallen asleep the previous night to the scent wrapped around her…

Light flashes above her. Thunder roars shortly after - shaking the ground beneath her boots. The way a star destroyer would as it entered a planet's atmosphere… Trilla looks skyward. Conflict wars within her. The rain comes down even harder. She blinks against the torrent. No triangular shadow creeps out of the storm. The lightning illuminates nothing in the dark clouds. 

When she returns, Kestis is laying out the tools she’d retrieved the previous day. She passes him the water as she kneels across from him. He takes a drink, and Trilla tries her very best to ignore the way some of the water drips down his chin. She averts her eyes down to the array of tools and gets straight to the point, “What will I need to remove the transponder?” 

Kestis wipes at his wet mouth with the back of his hand before answering, “Well, a hydrospanner for sure.” He taps it and Trilla picks it up. Kestis hands her another tool. “And this fusioncutter, in case the bolts are locked up.”

Trilla is familiar with both, “Where are the bolts located? I couldn’t find them when I was down there before.”

“The transponder is in a metal guard under the console, which you already know...” He holds up his hands to indicate two separate points with his fingers, “But the bolts are spaced pretty far apart, so it’s not surprising you couldn’t find them. Once you get that shielding off, the box should come right out. There are a few wires to disconnect, but that’s it.”

She nods, envisioning what he’d described, “You’ve disassembled TIEs before?”

“Yeah, some of the early models that got phased out ended up on Bracca.” 

Trilla notices how his jaw tightens. He’s staring hard at the tools in her grasp. She doesn’t need to feel him in the Force to know that he’s uneasy. “If you have something to say, then say it.” She says with an edge to her tone. 

“I don’t like that you’re going back down there.” He looks up. His gaze is piercing. 

Trilla gives a short exhale through her nose - a humorless laugh. “Your concern is unnecessary and unwanted.” She gets to her feet, “We need that transponder if we are going to get off this rock.”

“What if it's damaged?” The Jedi holds her in his gaze. Trilla grits her teeth. Yes, what if? What will they do if they have no way to signal for help? She didn’t want to imagine it. Living isolated from the rest of the galaxy for the foreseeable future with a self righteous relic of a forgotten era? It did not sound appealing. 

_ How about stuck with a handsome young man whom you  _ know _ you could have if you weren’t such a coward—? _

“I didn’t realize you were such a pessimist, Kestis.”

He shakes his head at her and leans back against the wall. “I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry. Isn’t being here better than being under the thumb of the Empire?”

Trilla balls her fists at her sides, one hand clenched tightly around the tools, anger suddenly hot in her chest. He didn’t understand. How could he? He’d never been flayed open, mind and body. Never had to feel another consciousness ripping through his own. She’d spared him that in their encounters. Even hundreds of parsecs away from her Sith masters, Trilla could still feel the echo of them, ever present, within her. Earlier, she’d been lulled into a sense of safety, but in reality, she knew she would never be truly safe from the Empire. Even here. She was anxious to resolve this lull in her momentum. It didn’t matter whether an Imperial Star Destroyer or the  _ Stinger Mantis _ answered their beacon, she wanted off of this planet. She wished to throw herself into her fate, instead of being trapped in limbo with these inconvenient feelings. 

She wanted to leave before she made a mistake. 

“You think I wish to be here? With you?” Her tone is low and harsh, a dry mocking. His expression becomes stony as she continues, “We are  _ not _ friends, Jedi. Do not mistake my mercy and cooperation for anything more meaningful. You are merely a valuable asset that I have chosen to retain for the time being.”

“You’ve made that clear before - you don’t need to repeat yourself.” His brow twitches as he blinks rapidly, as if trying to control some emotion, “You sound like you’re trying to convince  _ yourself _ at this point, not me.”

_ Damn him _ . Trilla glares, “If you didn’t think of us as less than adversaries, why did you return my weapon to me and mend my jacket?”

“I can play that game too, Trilla.” He fires back, “If you’re truly my enemy, why did you help me with this?” He gestured emphatically at his leg. 

“We merely have a temporary agreement—“

“We agreed not to  _ hurt _ one another!” He stresses, “You’ve done more than you needed to in this truce. You know it.”

Her twin blades ignite with a loud snarl. 

Kestis barely flinches. Trilla struggles to control the raging emotions within her. She exhales raggedly through parted lips. One of her blades casts his upturned face in a soft crimson glow. Her leather glove creaks with the tight grip she has on her hilt. “Are you asking me to  _ prove _ where we stand with one another? Because, I assure you, I can make it  _ very _ clear.” She tips her blade closer to his chest.

“I don’t want to fight you.” He says with clear eyes and a genuine tone. “I want you to be honest with yourself.”

The urge to strike him nearly overcomes her. She hates how he sees through her. How he dares to voice the crux of her conflict. To bare it between them, out in the open to be judged and examined. It enrages her. If she killed him, he could never tell anyone of her weakness. She could reclaim her pride and move on. 

It would hurt - but it would be her penance.

His brave, scar marred features look to her without any perceptible fear. She realizes he is convinced she won’t hurt him. It was why he’d given her back her weapon in the first place. Trilla wants to lash out at that revelation. How dare he presume to know her intentions?

_ He’s right though. You won’t hurt him. After Zeffo, you lost the lust for his demise. You let him get under your skin _ ...

“I still hate you.” She snarls low as she disengages her lightsaber. 

“Well,” The Jedi’s face has softened. “I still  _ don’t _ hate you.” 

Trilla glowers at him before she turns on her heel to stalk towards the entrance of the cavern. The storm continues to rage outside. It wasn’t an entirely smart decision to go out in such a squall, but with so much anger coursing through her veins, Trilla didn’t much care. She was going to do whatever it took to get that transponder and find a way off of this planet.

_ Before these close quarters push us any closer together. _

——

The lake is a torrent of waves and wind. She stands in the freezing spray and shivers. Kestis’s poncho and her boots have been stashed in the boulders at the shoreline. Left in just her sleeveless top and pants, Trilla stares at the dark water. Every instinct in her tells her not to go into the depths. Her self preservation is not stronger than her spite, though. She lurches forwards to splash into the shallows. Her breath is knocked from her at the shock of the extreme cold. 

_ You’re not going to make it _ .

No. She would. She  _ had _ to. 

This time was different than the last. The moment her head dipped beneath the surf, The Force felt loud around her. As she reached into it, she had to focus and refocus to discern the location of the wreck, and even then she couldn’t be for sure. The lake was  _ awake.  _ Force signatures flickered around her like stars in the night sky. Rationally, the reason for such activity was likely the storm and it’s disturbance of the lake surface, but it still unnerved her. She gripped her saber, disengaged for now, in her hand as she swam. The depth once again causes her ears to ache. The red glow of the TIE’s auxiliary power lights guide her the rest of the way to it. Once inside, Trilla braces herself beneath the console and procures the tools from her waist. The bolts were where Kestis had indicated and the hydrospanner makes quick work of them. With a sharp jerk down, the shielding falls free. The transponder hangs suspended from several wires. Trilla tugs them out of the device. Clutching the valuable piece of tech to her chest with one hand, Trilla swims out of her ruined TIE for what she hopes is the last time. 

Her lungs sting with lack of oxygen. The wound on her arm burns. The cold saps at her strength. 

_ No. No, no, no…  _

Something brushes against her legs. Trilla almost opens her mouth in shock. She flounders just a few meters from the surface. 

There’s a firm grip around her ankles. She can’t use her legs to kick anymore. 

_ Shit! _

Before she can ignite her lightsaber, she’s tugged down.  _ Hard _ .

It’s a rapid descent. Her head feels like it’s going to explode from the sudden change in pressure. 

All goes black.

——

All  _ stays _ black.

Trilla thinks, for a brief moment, that she might be dead.

It would be fitting for her to wander eternity in the darkness, cold and alone. 

But doubt is cast on her predicament as she begins to feel her body’s aches and pains. The injury burning on her arm is enough evidence she has not departed this plane of existence. Trilla rolls onto her back, groaning. There is cold, wet stone beneath her. A roaring fills her ears. 

And then panic grips her.

_ Where is it—? _

Her hand blindly smacks the solid shape of the transponder laying beside her. 

Trilla begins a sigh that ends in a wet cough. At least she hadn’t failed completely. Her eyes begin to adjust to her surroundings as she sits up. Her body feels like it has just been tossed down a mountain.  _ What happened? _

The familiar glow of bioluminescent cave flora catches her eye.  _ How did I get here? _ The roaring is loud. It makes it hard to think. She turns her face towards the sound. It’s so close. Mist falls over her. Trilla is relieved to find her lightsaber beside her. She lifts it and ignites one end. 

A waterfall plunges into a pool before her.

This fit Kestis’s description of his exploration further into the cavern by way of his disappearing tunnel. She tentatively extends her awareness. The soft call of kyber crystals answer her. Could she really be in the same place he’d been yesterday? 

_ How? _

It made no sense. To get from the lake to this cavern… She should have drowned.

Trilla stands, cradling the transponder to her chest with one hand and holding her saber aloft with the other. She wanders the perimeter of the large chamber, stepping over glowing plants and around large stalagmite columns. Each step is difficult. Something is wrong with her. Her legs feel heavy. Bones numb. Mind slow. Even though she’d managed to escape death, her brush with it clearly hadn’t left her unscathed. 

And then she sees it. The tunnel. She only hopes it will actually bring her back to the hot spring grotto.

She steps through.

Into darkness.

And nothing.

Trilla jolts in surprise. She’s no longer holding her saber or the transponder. In fact, she’s kneeling. She looks about her in total confusion. 

_ What in the universe—? _

“Huh. Another one.”

Trilla stiffens at the voice and raises her eyes to see a man kneeling across from her. After the initial shock of seeing another being other than Kestis, Trilla realizes she knows  _ exactly _ who he is. One of the few masters unaccounted for after the Purge, she knew his face quite well. The Inquisitorius made sure of it. He looked far more harried than she remembered from the holos. Years in hiding had surely taken it’s toll on Quinlan Vos.

Her mouth dries and her blood sings with the conditioning engrained in her. A Jedi Master? Alive? What a prize to claim. Perhaps  _ his _ capture would buy forgiveness—

“Hey, uh… You alright?” He waves a hand before her face. She flinches back, eyes wide. “You don’t have to be afraid. This place is safe.” He pauses and raises a finger to amend, “As far as I know.”

“I’m  _ not _ afraid.” She hisses. Looking down, she sees nothing but empty space. Maybe she was a little  _ unnerved _ , but not afraid. “Where am I?”

“I’m not really certain. A construct of the Force, to be sure. Only been here a few times myself.” Vos shrugs, before frowning at her. Trilla swallows at his studying gaze, “You’re far less calm than the last person I saw here.”

“Who?” Trilla hears herself ask. She’s not sure why she’s so anxious. Why the hair at the back of her neck is standing up...

Master Vos taps his chin in thought, “He had red hair, scars—”

“Cal Kestis.” She can’t keep the disdain out of her tone.

He raises a brow and stares at her for a long moment. Trilla shifts uncomfortably. This was putting her in mind of the many sessions she’d had with various masters in the Temple throughout her childhood. She’d always resented the judgement and the pointed critiques they had passed down to her in their attempts to guide her. Master Vos’s mouth slowly turns up in a smile. “I take it that you don’t see eye to eye with the boy?”

Trilla doesn’t know what to say. Part of her distrusts this Jedi out of principle, but part of her wants to hear what he might reveal to her. Kestis had clearly met him, and had purposely not told her of the encounter. She finds herself annoyed by that fact. Though, they  _ are _ still enemies. Of course he wouldn’t reveal  _ everything _ to her…

Still. It bothered her.

“We have our differences.” She answers slowly, making her wariness obvious in her tone. 

“He mentioned you.” Vos crosses his arms over his chest, a knowing look in his eyes, “Sounds like you’ve caused him some trouble?”

“I’m no Jedi, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She narrows her eyes, “And I know who you are.”

He frowns. They watch each other for a time. Trilla once again feels exposed. Bare. How she had earlier with Kestis. “You are an agent of the Empire.”

Trilla doesn’t know why him identifying her as such has her feeling disappointed. She nods once, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, “Now that we know you’re alive, the Empire will be searching for you more aggressively. We will find you and end your miserable existence. One more Jedi scourged from this galaxy—“

“Drop the act.”

She falters, “I’m not...”

“You are. I can tell you don’t believe anything coming out of your mouth. You’re saying what you think you have to.” He leans forward. The anxiety in the pit of her stomach is rapidly morphing into a deep dread. “If killing Jedi is your goal, why is the kid still alive?”

Trilla replies reflexively. “I need him.”

“Do you really?” Vos challenges. He looks amused, a faint smile on his lips. 

_ That’s enough _ .

She scrambles to her feet, towering menacingly over the Jedi, “I do not have to explain myself to  _ you _ . Kestis is  _ mine _ , and I will do with him as I please!”

“Yours, huh?” He chuckles dryly, “Does he know that?”

Her jaw aches from how hard she’s clenching it. “He’s my  _ prisoner _ . Nothing more.”

“Are you sure?”

Trilla balls her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms, “Shut up.”

“You know, I understand you.” His tone is far more serious now, “I know the dark side well. I know how it blinds and tears and consumes. It  _ will _ kill you—“

“So?!” She snarls. Her raised voice echoes around them. “Everything dies eventually!”

He sighs, shaking his head. His hair sways with the motion, “I can’t help you, and I doubt you’d want it, but if I can leave you with anything...” He reaches up to grab her wrist. Trilla startles and tries to tug free, but her arm has gone suddenly numb. She is nauseous at the warm contact of his bare hand. Images flash across her mind. A pale face, an alluring voice, and pain… so much of it… Panic rises in her throat. Vos speaks, “A terrible price was paid for my soul. Don’t let it be the same for yours.”

Trilla cries out in frustration and twists free, falling back.

Onto stone.

Her breath is heavy in the darkness. 

She raises a hand to her head, trying to quiet the unwanted memories that still echo in her consciousness. Is this what it was like for Kestis when he used his psychometry? It was all so loud and confused in her mind. 

The visions she saw unsettled her. They weren’t hers. They were  _ his _ . 

Trilla finds the transponder and her lightsaber on the ground nearby after scrambling in the dark for a long minute. It is hard to get her feet beneath her. Reigniting her saber, Trilla stumbles up the tunnel. The cold in her bones makes every step a challenge. 

_ I hate this place _ .

Of all the deserted planets to crash land on, they’d just happened to end up on the one with a cave system that was strongly connected to the Force. A sick twist of fate. She’s sure Kestis considers it the will of the Force. 

The will of the Force could fuck right off, in her opinion.

Eventually, she sees light ahead. It’s soft and bluish green. Relief floods through her. Just a little farther…

She shuffles through the portal into the warmth of the hot spring chamber. Her saber disengages just as she sees Kestis limping towards her. Her words sound slow and tired to her ears, “I’ve told you, you shouldn’t be walk— ah!’

His arms are around her, crushing her to him, pressing uncomfortably on her wound. Trilla is shaken by the abrupt contact.  _ What the hell? _ She pushes him back after a moment of stunned silence. He lets her go, but he keeps a hand on her elbow as he pulls away. 

He looks like he’s been chewed up and spit out of a gundark’s mouth. There are dark bags under his eyes. He is clearly exhausted. His face sports red scruff across his jaw and chin - which had definitely  _ not _ been there when she’d left him a few hours ago. 

“Where were you?” Kestis asks, eyes searching hers, his voice straining. 

Trilla frowns at him as she holds up the transponder with some difficulty. She is so very tired. “Retrieving this, don’t you remember? I got a bit detoured along the way, but I don’t see how that warrants you  _ accosting _ me.”

He looks at her like she’s insane, “Trilla, it’s been  _ three days _ since you left.”

_ What? _

She blinks in disbelief. How was that possible? Where had all the time gone? When had she lost it? After she blacked out in the lake or when she’d been forced into a conversation with that nosy Jedi Master?

“I—“ Kestis’s appearance makes more sense now. Trilla’s brow knits, “It was not my intention to be gone that long.”

He makes an incredulous noise in the back of his throat as he tightens his grip on her, “I thought you were  _ dead!” _

She doesn’t know why he’s so distraught. Wouldn’t it have been to his favor if she’d perished? Sure, he would be without the transponder, but she would no longer be a threat to him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

A cough wracks her body just then. She curses under her breath when she’s finally able to breathe again. Kestis grabs the transponder from her and guides her around the hot spring to their usual resting spot. Trilla’s eyes focus on something out of place. 

His poncho and her boots.

“You found them…”

“I went looking for you.” He rasps as he sets the transponder down. 

Trilla’s mind turns as she looks around the space. Her eyes settle on the hydrospanner. The one she had left in the drowned starfighter. Something clicks. She turns to him, eyes narrowed, “You went down to the TIE?”

Kestis rakes his hair back from his face. It’s a limp mess. He sighs through his nose, “I had to know if you were there…”

He had clearly expected to find her body in the wreck. A shiver, straight from her still frigid core, rolls over her and she crosses her arms over her middle. There is a dark edge to her tone, “That was incredibly foolish of you.”

“No.” He snaps back, his weary eyes flashing with anger, “No!  _ You _ don’t get to say that!”

Trilla blinks at his outburst. He is far too mouthy. She is in no mood to be chastised. Least of all by him. “I’ll say whatever I like, Cal Kestis!”

At that, his expression shifts from a look of irritation, to one that makes her think he’s about to break down, “Trilla… It’s just... I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

She is uncomfortable with how he’s looking at her. Like she means something to him. There is no way he could have taken her absence that hard... “Would that have been so terrible?”

He closes his eyes and swallows, almost like he’s centering himself. Or bracing for something. “Yes.”

_ Oh.  _

_ Well then _ .

“Careful little Jedi, attachment is forbidden.” Trilla mocks, gauging his reaction.

Green eyes open to capture hers. “I know.”

Tension hangs in the air between them. They watch each other - looking for any sign that the other will cave. Though it’s uncertain into  _ what _ they would be caving.

Trilla feels her knees weakening the longer she stands. She is  _ so very cold _ . If she really had been gone for three days, her physical state made more sense to her now. Even if she didn’t understand exactly what had happened yet… She knows she needs to get out of her wet clothes. Warm up. Trilla reaches to pull the bottom of her sleeveless shirt over her head. She narrows her eyes as his are drawn to the bare skin of her midriff. “Are you going to watch, or…?”

Kestis inhales sharply and turns away. His embarrassment is palpable.  _ Good _ . 

She drops her shirt to the side. It hits the stone floor with a wet ‘smack’. Her fingers are numb as they fumble with the front of her pants. Eventually she is victorious and is able to peel the wet fabric off her hips. She glances up to see that the tips of Kestis’s ears are red. He shifts his weight between legs. Discomfort radiates off of him. Left in just her undergarments, she places a hand on her hip. Her skin is cold to the touch. “Is this the first time a woman has undressed in front of you?” Trilla teases, but her tone is softer than she intends - she’ll blame her exhaustion for that.

He is quiet. She starts to think he won’t answer her. Until he mutters, “Yes.”

That gives her pause. It’s not entirely surprising, considering his commitment to the Jedi way and his youth… Then again, he’d had little shame when he’d stripped in front of her a few days ago, so this could be considered a fair return on her part. Still, he wasn’t looking at her, and even though she doesn’t like the idea of being seen so bare by another, a part of her wants to sear his righteous Jedi mind with the sight of her near bare body. Perhaps it’s the cold addling her brain, but that reckless side of her wins out. “You have my permission to look.”

She can see his jaw twitch at her words. “I shouldn’t.”

Trilla can respect his restraint. It’s admirable. “But you  _ want _ to.”

“Stop it.” He clenches his fists. “You’re just manipulating me.”

Was she?

That was what she’d like to tell herself, but the truth was far more indicative of her weakness for him. 

_ You want him. You want him to want you _ .

“Fine. Think what you will.” She steps away towards the hot spring. As soon as she’d laid eyes on it after emerging from the tunnel, it had been her mission to end up in its steaming waters. The perfect solution to her frigid form. Dipping a foot in, Trilla hisses at the stinging temperature contrast. It’s painful in the best way. She forces herself all the way in. Her eyes slip shut as the heat of the water slowly melts away her chill. Lifting her hands, she runs them over her face, relishing the warmth. Trilla looks up to see Kestis carefully laying out her discarded clothing to dry. He still has his back to her. Trilla goes to the edge of the pool closest to him and crosses her arms on the side, “You should join me.”

“ _ Trilla… _ ” He warns, his shoulders rising and falling in a heavy sigh.

She tugs lightly at him with the Force. He maintains his balance, but does turn to glare at her. She raises a brow, “You’re quite wound up.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe it’s because up until a few minutes ago, I thought you were dead!” He stalks closer to her, looking infuriated. “And now you’re trying to… you’re acting like…” 

He’s looming over her place in the water. She feels the conflict in him. There is a similar one within herself. “Calm down and get in here. I’ll tell you what happened.”

He wavers, and then furiously starts removing his clothes. Like he’s upset he’s doing as she asked, but doing it anyway. Trilla doesn’t look away. That only seems to annoy him more. His shirt is thrown on the ground and Trilla admires the ripple of his abs as he kicks off his boots before shucking off his pants. She notices how the bandage is gone from his leg, but there still remains a terrible bruise running the length of his shin. He’s a bit thinner too. Had he eaten at all since she left?

The water laps at her side as he slips in nearby. Try as he might to maintain his irritated disposition, his brow relaxes at the heat. Trilla turns to lean back against the edge of the pool, “Better?”

“Not really.” He grumbles as he sinks low in the water, eyeing her.

Trilla is acutely aware that her chest is well above the waterline, granting a generous view of her wet undergarment and the small swells of her breasts. She fights the urge to hide them. Without preamble, Trilla launches into explaining what she’d experienced, “Your instructions for how to remove the transponder were helpful. I made quick work of it, but as I was ascending back to the surface, I was taken hold of by something. I am not sure what it was.” She can hardly remember the sequence of events in that moment. “I was pulled down. I fell unconscious.” He has drifted a bit closer to her. Trilla brushes her hair behind her ear, “I woke up in a cave. I think it may have been the same one you found.”

Kestis perks up a bit at that, “There was a waterfall?”

“Yes. I assume I came up from the pool it emptied into, though it seems improbable… I can’t say for sure. I don’t remember anything.” She hates the feeling of lost time. Hours had melted into days in the first weeks of her torture by the Empire. She still couldn’t sort out how long they’d kept her in the dark. How much pain she’d endured before her mind broke… Trilla swallows hard and when she meets Kestis’s eyes, she gets the sense that he knows what she’s thinking. He’d seen some of it for himself, after all.

“I tried to reach you in the Force, but I couldn’t.” 

“How thoughtful.” Trilla begins to smile sardonically, but it fades as his face falls, “What is it?”

“I thought you were gone.”

“You keep saying that, and I don’t know what it is you want  _ me _ to say—“

Kestis is only a few paces away now. She can see the condensed steam on his lashes, giving him a softer appearance. If she squints, she can still make out the faintest blush of traumatized skin from where her fingers had attempted to squeeze the life from him days ago. “You really can’t see, can you?”

She doesn’t want to. Or maybe she does, but can’t bring herself to acknowledge it.

The fact that he seems to genuinely care for her.

That he’d worried for her.

It was too close to what she wanted.

“You’re pathetic.” The words lack any real venom, but Kestis’s eyes squeeze shut against them all the same. As though she’d struck him. She tastes guilt bitter on her tongue, “No.” Trilla amends, “Not pathetic… just…  _ quixotic  _ in your thinking.”

“I—“ She can’t tell if he’s flushed from the heat of the water or her words, “I just wanted you know that I—“

“Don’t.” She’s not even sure what he’d been about to say, but she doesn’t like his tone. It’s far too raw, “I don’t want to hear it.”

He once again looks near exasperation, “Why not?”

“Because I said so.” She says harshly under her breath. Kestis purses his lips and holds his tongue. It is obvious he wants to say something more, but whatever bravery he’d mustered a moment ago was gone now. Trilla collects her thoughts, “Where was I? Ah yes, I located the tunnel you spoke of and when I entered it, I found myself in the most peculiar place…”

Kestis stills.

That caught his attention.

“Yeah?” He says hesitantly.

Trilla leans back and stretches her arms along the edge of the pool, “Yes, and I met someone.”

“Uh huh…” Was he sweating or was that the moisture of the spring gathering at his brow?

“You already know who I’m talking about, don’t you, Kestis?”

He shrugs, “Well, I never got his name, but I guess so?”

“I can imagine why you kept your meeting with him a secret. He is a Jedi Master, after all. One that has been sought out by the Inquisitorius since his death was never confirmed.”

Kestis sobered, “You know more about him than me, then.”

Trilla considers telling him, but that might give him too much hope… and yet, she is curious to see what he thinks. “I am surprised you didn’t recognize him. It would be odd if you’d never met him in your time at the Temple.”

He sighs, “I suppressed a lot of my memories from before the Purge.”

“Jedi Master Quinlan Vos. A formidable warrior. Also born with the gift of psychometry, like yourself.” Trilla watches the Jedi’s eyes widen.

“I  _ knew _ he was familiar…” He looks down at his hands just below the water’s surface, “I must have met with him when I was very young.”

“Yes, well, he was a nuisance I had to endure before I was able to return here.” Trilla thought back to the Jedi’s insinuations concerning Kestis and how he’d forced her to see his own memories. She still had yet to fully understand what he’d shown her. 

Kestis seems to expect her to say something more, but she isn’t about to confess the nature of Vos’s meddling. Though, she suspects he’d done similar to the young Jedi. The whole thing was ridiculous.

An awkward silence falls over them. Trilla tips her head back to stare at the ceiling. A drop of water falls from the dewy stone above and hits her cheek. She scrunches her nose at the sensation. The kyber hums above her. It isn’t the same cadence she’d sensed before. Something is different. Not off in a worrying way, but strange enough for her to notice. What that could mean, she isn’t sure. 

There is so much she isn’t sure of these days, it seems.

She hears Kestis shift in the water, and she glances down the bridge of her nose to see that he’s moved to the edge of the spring. His back muscles flexing as he raises his arms to rest on the lip of the pool. His red hair trails wet down the nape of his neck. 

Suddenly, she is struck with the realization that something is missing. “Where’s your droid?”

The Jedi’s head dips, “BD-1 ran out of power.”

“So, where is it?”

Kestis nodded towards the cave entrance, “I ripped a piece of your TIE’s solar array off and brought it up. I managed to rig it to BD-1, but it’s a trickle charge. It’s going to take a while before it’s at full power, especially with the weak sun here.”

Trilla nods, “When did it lose power?”

“The evening of the day you left.”

The Jedi had been without a companion for the duration of her disappearance. Trilla is sure it was difficult for him, considering the reliance he had on the droid. “That must have made it harder to look for me.”

“It didn’t help.” He mutters into his arm. 

Aside from the general soreness throughout her body and the dull ache of her arm injury, Trilla would admit the spring had worked wonders for her. Her shivering had stopped after only a few minutes submerged in the pool and the steam in the air was a balm to her sore throat. She digs her toes into the rocky bed of the pool. The pebbles feel good against the bottom of her feet. Like a gentle massage. Trilla sinks lower in the water, eyes settling on Kestis’s broad back. She maps the freckles and imperfections across his toned, pale skin. A scar arcing from just below his right shoulder blade down towards his spine gives her pause. It is old, but prominent in it’s wide silvery path. “How did you come by that scar on your back?”

He tenses. His shoulders flexing in the act. “Why do you want to know?”

“Idle curiosity.”

His head raises, but he doesn’t look back at her. “A hull panel was being winched from a Venator-class cruiser and it broke from a guiding line. I was in the way. It swung free and sliced my back open. It was pure luck my spine wasn’t severed.”

“This was not recent.” 

“No. It was probably…” He pauses, thinking, “...yeah, probably in the first few months after Order 66.”

Trilla frowns, “You were permitted to scrap at that age?”

A laugh shakes him, or what she thinks is a laugh, “I  _ had _ to. I wasn’t the only youngling on the wrecks though - I blended right in.”

She’s not sure what to say to that. It wasn’t like being a Jedi padawan during the Clone Wars was any less dangerous than traipsing around ruined and rusted ships all day, but still. It couldn’t have been easy.

_ Who cares? That was nothing compared to your suffering. _

“What about you?” Kestis looks over his shoulder, brow raised.

Trilla subconsciously touches the inside of her left arm. “What about me?”

“Got any scars?”

“You would think I would be covered in them, wouldn’t you?” 

He hesitates. “The Ninth Sister implied—“ 

“Ninth was a masochist. I’m sure she enjoyed the pain by the end.” Trilla bites out, before her voice lowers, explaining in a tone as devoid of emotion as she can manage, “When breaking me, they didn’t leave me to suffer. I was always treated after I fell unconscious. I would awake in the dark, flawless… as if all of the torture had only been a terrible nightmare. But I knew different. Bacta leaves a residue. It has a particular smell.”

“Trilla…” Kestis was wading towards her again. “I didn’t realize...”

“I don’t want your pity.” She presses on the inside of her wrist.

He steps closer than he’d come before. The rocks around her feet are stirred up by his own. “What about those?” His eyes drop to her arm clutched close to her body below the water.

She freezes. A knot forming in her gut, “None of your concern.”

“Okay.” He says gently. Emerald eyes soft and understanding. 

_ Damn him _ .

Trilla acts without thought.

Her hand darts out to close over his wrist and she yanks him towards her. With a splash, he loses balance and is forced to brace his free hand on the edge of the pool beside her to keep from falling into her. His eyes are wide. Hair displaced by her action falls messily over his forehead. Trilla tightens her grip on him as she straightens to her full height. Kestis leans away, but she is merciless in her hold on him. His gaze flicks down to her chest, and then up to her lips. 

_ Predictable _ .

“Trill—?“

With her free hand, she reaches out to cup the back of his neck, fingers twisting into the hair there.  _ It’s so soft _ ... There’s a spark of realization in his eyes. Trilla anticipates a panicked reaction from him, but not the way he visibly and physically relaxes in her grip. His eyes search hers, guarded, but dark with interest.

_ Got you _ . 

Trilla takes his parted lips as an invitation and leans in to slide her mouth over his. The moment their lips touch, he melts into her. Trilla is momentarily taken aback by how willing he is. He’s inexperienced, she can tell, but he’s certainly eager. He deepens the kiss, his head cocking to the side to gain better access to her lips. She feels the soft scratch of his scruff against her skin. Her tongue dips into his mouth, prompting a small, desperate noise from him. He tastes forbidden and that only makes her want him more. She nips at his bottom lip. He breathes in sharply through his nose. 

And then he moves his hand from the side of the pool to her hip beneath the water. His touch is incendiary. Trilla falters.  _ Enough.  _ She abruptly releases his wrist and places a hand on his shoulder, holding him away from her. He snatches his hand back from her skin.

They stare at each other, chests heaving. His freshly kissed lips are a deep red. Heat settles low in her at the sight. A pity this would be the only time she could enjoy such a sight. Kestis looks about to say something, but she cuts him off, “That meant nothing.” She tries to assure him and herself.

He blinks, visibly confused, “What?”

Trilla gives his shoulder a small shove. He steps back reluctantly. She lifts her chin as she says, “You heard me.”

“But…”

“But nothing.” She swallows, forcing herself to meet his hurt expression, “I was simply curious.”

Kestis scoffs, “Are you  _ serious? _ ”

“Yes.” She schools her features into neutrality, “And it seems my suspicions were correct.”

“About what?” He asks through grit teeth. 

“You’ve developed feelings for me.” Trilla manages a thin smile.

He’s angry. She can feel his unchecked emotions - emotions she’d churned up in him, threatening to lash out, “And so?”

She considers him. Standing bare to his waist before her, wet, flushed, beautiful - she almost wishes she’d seen where that kiss could have taken them.

“How can you call yourself a Jedi if you’d so willingly break the Code?” Trilla challenges. She wants him to see his own hypocrisy. Make him question himself. Torture him with his own principles.

Kestis’s jaw works and instead of answering her, he wades to the edge of the pool and gets out. Water sloughs off him. He ruffles a hand through his wet hair as he stalks away. The sound of his bare feet smacking against the cavern floor is the only indication he’s behind her gathering his clothes. He stays quiet, but his feelings are still loud enough for Trilla to understand that he’s furious. 

That’s fine. 

This was how it was supposed to be.

The feeling of his lips on hers has yet to fade...

=+=

Cal stands with his back to her. He can hardly breath. Fists clench and unclench at his side. Eyes unfocused. He strips out of his wet shorts and pulls his clothes back on - his poncho too. He’d slept with it in the nights she’d been gone, but never worn it. He couldn’t say why. 

Or maybe he could. 

Now he yanks it over his head aggressively. The faint scent of her drifts into his senses. He shuts his eyes and tries to block out what she’d done to him. What he’d allowed to happen. Cal feels like he’s experienced whiplash. The emotional kind. Just a few hours ago he’d been despairing. 

_ Grieving _ her.

He’d given up hope for her return. Had been trying to accept that he would likely never know what happened to her. The day she’d left, he’d been concerned when she wasn’t back by nightfall, but she’d left angry so he’d assumed that she might have needed space.

In retrospect, he should have realized Trilla was more reliable than that. By the time he’d wanted to search for her, it was dark and BD-1 had lost power. He suspected it was because it had been unable to gather enough sunlight with its small solar panel in the time they’d been stranded. Cal had panicked. He’d limped around in the dark just outside the cavern, calling for her audibly and through the Force. 

That night, he’d hardly slept. How could he? He was disturbed by her absence. Without her, the cavern felt wrong. He’d sat in the front chamber, staring out into the darkness - hoping she’d turn up and berate him for having walked around on his injury. She didn’t.

The following days had passed in a dazed blur. Cal had applied the remaining bacta patches in a desperate bid to speed up his healing. It had worked, though the mending bone in his leg had been nearly as painful as the original injury. When he’d felt that he stood a good chance of making it, he had gone to the shoreline. There, he’d felt a gentle pull in the Force. It had led him to his poncho and Trilla’s boots. His relief was short-lived. It was clear she’d gone into the lake as she'd originally intended…

Cal’s exploration of the wreck had turned up evidence that she had indeed removed the transponder. But she was nowhere to be found. No body and no clues to follow. She’d just… vanished.

The hours passed too slow after that. Sleep evaded him. He’d tried to meditate in hopes of somehow reaching her. It was a fruitless effort. Her uniform jacket was the only touchstone he had left of her. It had been both a comfort and a source of angst. He told himself he was so upset because he needed her for his survival, but he knew that was a lie.

If anything, her absence had made it clear just how important she’d become to him. 

When she’d manifested out of the wall of the cavern earlier, Cal had nearly tripped over his feet to get to her. Her presence had flooded his senses just as she appeared and he’d almost wept at the sight of her. 

Now he didn’t even want to look at her. 

_ I’m so stupid… Why did I think she’d feel anything for me? I’m obviously just something to entertain her. She’s said as much.  _

Cal hears the water in the spring splash as Trilla leaves it. He braces for some snarky comment from her, but he only hears the soft rustle of clothing. She enters his peripheral and scoops up her jacket. His shoulders hunch as he turns further away from her. 

He hates how the image of her near bare body comes unbidden to the fore of his mind. She is so breathtakingly beautiful. The dark tone of her skin, the soft swell of her breasts… the weightless waves of her hair falling about her face. The warmth of her lips… he wishes he could taste them again, even as he rues the day she came into his life. 

It should have been obvious that she would toy with him like this. She’d never stopped being his enemy. Was this all a sick joke to her?

She wasn’t laughing, so maybe not. 

Cal chances a glance over his shoulder to see Trilla sitting against the wall near the transponder. She looks up and he quickly turns away. Sliding down the stone bulwark a ways away from her, Cal pulls his hood over his face and crosses his arms over his chest. 

At least now that she’d returned, he could finally sleep. 

As soon as he stopped thinking about that kiss... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh trilla...
> 
> find me on twitter: @acosmiclove


	5. Chapter 5

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

  
There is a soft beeping. A steady sound, almost like a heartbeat. It is comforting in its monotone rhythm. Never slowing, never speeding up. Just a repeated tone marching on at the edge of his consciousness. 

Cal opens his eyes and the first thing they focus on is the steam rising from the hot spring. A phantom feeling washes over him. He narrows his eyes at the waters where  _ it _ had happened. Where Trilla Suduri had taken a piece of him. Pulled him into her and pushed him away just as quickly.

He hears a shuffling to his left. 

Speaking of…

Trilla is crouching beside the transponder. She appears more like her Inquisitor self than she had since they crashed. Her uniform is assembled down to her red palmed gloves. Even her shoulder plates are present. Her belt is back around her waist as well. He’d moved the holocron to his own in her absence and left hers to the side - where she must have found it. The only things missing are her ruined cape and the mask. He hadn’t thought about it before, but it was strange she’d forgone it completely when she confronted him on Bogano. Her hands are flitting over the transponder. She knows what she’s doing. He recalls that she is skilled at hacking comms. 

‘ _ Very good, padawan. You’ve cleared the way.’  _

In retrospect, Cal wishes he’d had the foresight or at least the discipline to resist her more fully. How had he allowed himself to be so taken in by her?

_ You didn’t even  _ try  _ to refuse her. You let yourself be blinded by a version of her that obviously doesn’t exist. _

He closes his eyes and attempts to center himself. The anger is hot within his chest again. He knows it’s unbecoming of him, especially as a Jedi, to let it fester there. It is a creature of hurt and spite - one he shouldn’t feed. Yet, it isn’t the only feeling that persists. His body still remembers the curve of her hip under his hand - the soft persistence of her lips against his own. The way she had seemed, in those few heated moments, to want to consume him completely. Maybe she had. 

_ There is no passion, only serenity.  _

Easier said than done. He wants to purge every one of these agonizing emotions from himself. Rip them from his mind and heart and emollate them, before they did the same to him. Master Vos’s words of caution concerning the Code return to him.  _ ‘It discourages meaningful connection. It makes us feel alone, when we don’t need to be.’ _

Maybe he’s okay with feeling alone. Isn’t the Force supposed to be his only true ally?

He is frustrated. Who was he kidding? He can’t shut out the way she makes him feel. Beyond simple physical attraction, he felt connected to her in a way he has no comparison for. On a level he’s never experienced. She had been a Jedi like himself. They had grown up under the same roof, walked the same Temple halls, and been taught by the same masters as younglings. She had experienced the Purge. Only, she hadn’t been as lucky in her survival. The dark side had found her and poisoned her spirit. Broken her. 

Perhaps that was why her kiss, at first so sweet, had seemed to turn bitter on his lips. Was she ruining him? What had she done? He felt that something inside him had shifted and he couldn’t put it right. Something was irrevocably changed. 

Worst of all, he can’t bring himself to feel guilty about it. He wanted her then and he knows some part of him still wants her now, even after she’d pushed him away so callously. He felt pathetic. Confused. Torn. 

_ ‘How can you call yourself a Jedi if you’d so willingly break the Code?’ _

He’s not sure. 

The transponder is aglow with indicator lights, some of which flash in tandem with the beeping. Trilla slides an antenna out from the top of it. A frantic alarm pierces the air. Cal winces at the high pitch. A frown pulls at Trilla’s mouth. 

The mouth he’d kissed.

Cal struggles to swallow the resentment rising in his throat. 

He’s not upset solely for what she’d done in the spring, but also for the fact that she had the gall to do so right after disappearing on him for days. Those days and nights had been nerve wracking. He hadn’t been ready to have her taken from him so suddenly. He’d been forced to face his budding feelings for her in the time she was gone, and she’d used them against him as soon as she’d returned.

Trilla taps the side of the box - the electronic wail persists. He watches her shoulders rise and fall in a silent sigh. She gathers up the transponder and starts for the entrance of the cave. Cal tenses at the sight of her back silhouetted in the opening. “I’ll be right back.” She seems to answer his unspoken concern. 

He says nothing in return. Cal can’t bring himself to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her. 

She was obviously going to place the box outside to beam a better signal. He wonders if all this effort will even pay off. There is no way of knowing who might answer their distress call. It is just a desperate cry into space - waiting for anyone close enough to hear it. In the days Trilla was missing, Cal had been trying to work out exactly where they might be. With little information to work with, he’d only managed to deduce that they were still in the Outer Rim. So, not much. After Bogano, they had only been in hyperspace for a short time before spinning out and crashing here. Wherever here is. He really should have paid more attention to the holo charts on the  _ Mantis _ .

He gets to his feet and yawns. It was good to be able to stand again without feeling like his right leg was going to give out from beneath him. He rakes his hair back and then rubs at his jaw. His mouth purses at the feeling of the stubble there. He contemplates using the small knife from the emergency kit to try and shave, but opts against it. He could deal with the softening scruff at his chin a while longer…

A familiar warble rings through the cavern. Cal’s chest loosens at the sight of his companion droid skittering across the stone towards him. “BD-1!” The droid clambers onto his shoulder. It beeps happily and hops around on its human perch, “Hey, hey! Yes, I can see you’re fully charged! It’s good to have you back.” Cal catches Trilla hovering out of the corner of his eye. She must have switched the droid on while she was outside.

BD-1 gives Trilla a friendly whistle beep in thanks. She doesn’t respond to it, but she does address Cal, “Are you done sulking?” She looks at him expectantly, hand on her hip.

He doesn’t think he can continue to give her the silent treatment. He glowers at her. “What if I’m not?”

“You need to get over it, Kestis. It was nothing—“

“Not to me!” The words leave his lips before he can stop them. 

They stare at each other. The implications of his words hang heavy and loud between them. Trilla tips her chin up, “I will not take responsibility for your baseless emotions.”

He huffs, “Of course you won’t.”

She says nothing to that, only stares at him a moment longer before changing subjects rather abruptly, “Come with me to the lake.”

“Why?”

“You’re not an invalid anymore - so you’re going to pull your weight and help catch lunch.” Trilla adds after a beat, “And we have things to discuss, it would seem.”

Cal doesn’t trust her. “What’s your game, Trilla?”

“No games, Kestis.” She turns on her heel and strides away. 

Despite his misgivings, he follows her into the light of day.

——

Cal is unnerved with how quiet Trilla is being as they walk side by side towards the lake glimmering in the distance. Her silence has him glancing over occasionally to get an idea of her thoughts. He can’t help but notice how graceful she is in picking her way through the rocky terrain. The way she holds herself straight backed and head up... Imposing.  _ Imperious _ . Though, her previously sharp edges are softer in his mind now. He’d seen her bare. Or, nearly so. He’d felt how gentle her touch could be. A dramatic juxtaposition to her strength and brutality. 

Though now he almost wishes she’d stayed venomous and cruel towards him. It would have been easier to never know her as someone broken by her experiences and clearly capable of compassion. Easier to be blind to her past and all its horrors. To never see her in those small moments of peace, brow relaxed and body released of tension. 

Maybe that’s another reason why he’s so enraged by what she’d done. What she’d said. He  _ knows _ she hasn’t been deceiving him this entire time. There is no way she’d taken his pain from him that night he’d been burning with a fever just to toy with him. No logical reason for her to tend to his wound and persist in telling him to keep off of it. They might be on opposing sides, but Cal isn’t fooled. She cared outside of merely keeping him alive for the Empire’s use. He couldn’t see any other reason for her actions. 

Because of them, her cold rejection stung all the worse. 

_ Why _ had she kissed him?

Cal flexes his hands at his sides. He feels the Force at his command, waiting just out of reach. Cal thinks that if Trilla picked a fight with him now, he’d be able to hold his own. 

Trilla seems to be of a similar mind. She stops suddenly and Cal instinctively takes a cautious step away from her. Her face is still turned towards the water, her profile striking against the pale sky beyond her. Her hand goes to her lightsaber at her waist. “You’re angry.”

His fingers twitch against the cool metal of his own hilt. When had they gone to his weapon? It had been a reflex. “What gave it away?”

She smiles. Has the audacity to look him in the eyes and  _ smile _ . Cal grits his teeth. He feels patronized by her demure expression as she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not really.”

“How about you show me then?” The twin blades of her double sided saber ignite beside her. Their hum is a low growl. A gentle warning. She lifts the weapon before her in a guard. “Well?”

His own blades light for the first time since Bogano, their orange hue a pale contrast to her crimson. “Fine.”

There is a long pause as they regard each other. Like two apex predators sizing the other up. Cal shifts a heel back, anticipating her strike, but Trilla stands still, as if waiting for  _ him _ . The realization hits him that she won’t make a move until he does.

_ ‘Remember, a Jedi should use his weapon primarily for defense _ .’

This was an exception. He thinks his master might understand.

Cal steps into a vicious upward slice, twirling his blades to meet Trilla’s natural defense and returning blow. It’s methodical, the exchange of bright blades against each other as the two fall into a deadly dance around one another, keeping close. Trilla doesn’t smirk or taunt or flash step away from him as she had in the past. Cal is forced to stare into her bright eyes, sharp and analyzing. As she easily bats away a sweeping horizontal slash, Cal begins to wonder if she’s just humoring him. His next flurry of blows is Force augmented. Trilla senses this in time to brace herself, but her saber is still pushed dangerously close to her chest as he bears down on her. “There it is.” She breathes against the crackling swords. 

Cal stumbles back when her lower blade curves up and she side steps out of the saber lock. He feels the heat of it’s proximity as it narrowly misses him. He slides back into a defensive stance, but again, Trilla makes no move to engage him. She lingers just beyond his reach, weapon loose at her side, motionless. Frustration burns in his throat. “Stop holding back!” 

Trilla cocks her head to the side, “Am I?”

“Of course you are.” He narrows his eyes, “I’ve fought you enough times to know.”

She tucks a tumble of curls behind her ear, “I’m simply here to receive your frustrations, Kestis. Come at me, if you wish to get them out of your system.”

“So, you’re just  _ toying _ with me?” He growls out.

Trilla snorts, “This is hardly meant to be a fight to the d—“

Cal stretches out a hand and uses the Force to pull her towards him mid sentence. She struggles against his hold, a sound of indignation falling from her lips, and manages to flip over his head at the last second. - out of range of his spinning blades. She lands and raises her saber in time to stop his backward stab. Cal whirls to face her and they are once again turning around each other in a perilous waltz. Trilla appears to take him more seriously now. She returns his heavy blows with her own. His arms shake with the impact of each strike. His recovering leg trembles as he shifts back on it to gain leverage. Cal splits his saber and goes on the offensive, one blade over the other as he pushes her back. Trilla scowls at the onslaught. Having had enough, she flash steps away. Satisfaction sings through his veins. “Too much for you?” Cal doesn’t need to look to know she’s standing off to his right. 

“You flail about like an overeager padawan.” She drawls, “Which I suppose is accurate… You aren’t a knight yet, are you?”

Cal tenses at her words and sends a single blade flying straight at her. Trilla raises a hand to stop it. The humming beam of energy halts frozen in the air barely half a meter from her. She launches it back and Cal has to duck to evade it’s wild spin. He manages to get a hold of it again before it clatters into the rocks. BD-1 whirrs low in his ear. Cal ignores the droid as he calls the hilt to his palm. “I may not be, but neither were  _ you _ .”

He knows he’s struck a nerve when she’s suddenly disappeared and reappeared in his immediate space. Expecting a blade, Cal raises his own to ward her off. The moment her hand lifts, he gasps at the miscalculation on his part. His throat closes painfully under her invisible grip. He tries to break her concentration with a desperate slice at her middle. She easily evades. He feels her boot connect with his gut. Cal groans as she releases him and he can’t stop himself from falling back into the gravel. BD-1 leaps from his shoulder as he does. His backside connects painfully with the ground and before he can roll away, Trilla is standing over him, a boot on either side of his hips. One of them bumps up against the holocron secured to his side. Cal glares up at her. His powered down blades are limp in his hands. “Are you quite done?” She holds a crimson saber to his chest. 

Adrenaline courses through him as he spits back defiantly, “ _ No _ .”

“I’ve entertained your paroxysm in hopes you’d come to see it’s petty futility, but perhaps I underestimated the depth of your anger.” She shakes her head once, hair coming free and brushing against her jaw as she does, “Who would guess a simple kiss would elicit such a reaction from you?”

BD-1 beeps in surprise and question from atop a nearby boulder. Trilla’s words were obvious news to it. Cal wars against the urge to lash out again. “You think I’m mad about  _ that _ ?”

“You’re not? Could have fooled me.”

He sits up fully and Trilla moves her blade away as he does. She takes a single step in retreat. A humorless laugh bubbles up from his chest, “You really don’t get it, do you?”

She frowns deeply and he thinks he sees a flash of uncertainty in her eyes as she disengages her sabers, “Your emotions are leading you astray, Cal Kestis.”

“No.” His voice is thick with conviction, “No, I’m not wrong about you.”

“Just because you’ve seen me as I was,” She looks down to her lightsaber clutched in her hand, “a scared girl in the midst of terror, doesn’t mean you know me now. I have done things in these last years that warrant my death ten times over.”

Prauf’s final moments flash unbidden across his mind. He recalls the ease in which Trilla had dispatched him. No hesitation, no remorse. Cal’s jaw tightens. He remembers the slaughtered partisans on Kashyyyk… They’d died because of his presence there. 

_ No, they died because she killed them. It wasn’t your fault _ .

Cal is reminded of that unguarded moment between them the night of the crash. The way Trilla had lamented the will of the Force. Skeptical of it’s intentions because of the suffering it had allowed. She had been genuine then. He feels that, somewhere inside her, she takes no real joy in her acts of violence. “I believe you would choose a better path, if you could.”

The Inquisitor scoffs, “A moot point. I am beyond that choice.”

“Is that why you pushed me away?” Cal wonders aloud. “You didn’t think you could choose me?” 

“Oh, make no mistake, I could have had you then and there in that spring.” Her voice lowers as she regards him with a thin smile, “You would have let me take you without complaint.”

Heat rises in his cheeks, “Trilla…”

“Am I wrong?” She fixes him with a pointed look, “No, no… I was being merciful when I let it go no further.”

“But, you initiated it.” He gets to his feet and brings his halved saber back together with a ‘click’, “Why?”

“It was a mistake.”

He hates that he can’t keep the hurt from his voice. “It didn’t feel like one.”

Trilla sighs, her tone exasperated, “What is it that you want? An admission of weakness much the same as your own?”

“Only if it’s the truth.” He challenges.

Trilla turns away, “I am no stranger to great emotions. I give into them all the time. They fuel me. Anger, grief, fear… though rarely  _ lust _ . This was an exception.”

He flushes at the implication. “You’re saying you only wanted a…  _ physical _ connection?” 

“You are not unappealing.” She smirks darkly as she glances back to him, “I wished to know what it was like…”

He swallows hard, “Then why stop yourself?”

“Because, as I said before, I’ve realized just how attached you have become to me.”

“But—“ He takes a tentative step towards her.

She lifts a hand to stop him from coming any closer, “For my part, I am not interested in anything...  _ meaningful _ . I would not burden myself with such a weakness.”

The anger inside him dims and a new emotion takes its place. He feels pity for her. “I don’t believe you.” He persists. 

Her smile turns thin, “You will.”

Cal watches her walk away, but he doesn’t really let her go.

——

They put aside, or more accurately,  _ ignore _ the conflict between them to fish from the shallows of the lake. Cal is begrudgingly impressed with Trilla’s precise control. She is able to pinpoint the life forces under the water with ease. For Cal, it is not as simple. He scares a few potential meals away before he manages to coax a flopping fish from the water with the Force. “Hey!”

“A bit small, but it will do.” Trilla says dismissively. Cal gives her an unamused stare. She ignores him as she holds her own catch before her. “Now put it out of its misery.” Cal reaches for his saber. “ _ No _ . With the Force.”

He gives her a puzzled look, “What?”

“Don’t play ignorant, Kestis. Crush it’s heart. Quick and clean. Like this.” A small flex of her fingers and the fish floating in her grasp goes limp.

Cal can’t recall a time he’d ever done such a thing. Sure, he’d slain plenty of creatures and beings - all with his lightsaber or with a violent push or pull of the Force over the edge of a fatal drop or hazard, but he’d never reached  _ inside _ a living being to take its life. It seemed far too... 

_ Dark _ .

“I don’t know…”

Trilla lets her fish float to the rocks at her feet as she moves to his side. Her hand falls over his gloved one. Cal flinches back from her, nearly losing focus on his wriggling catch. He immediately feels warm at her close proximity. Too warm. “You can’t go halfway on this if you want to keep it’s pain to a minimum.” 

“What if I don’t want to do it this way?” Cal mutters.

Her jaw ticks and he watches as her green eyes narrow, “You are no stranger to brutality, Kestis. This is merciful compared to what I’ve seen you do.”

He tries not to imagine the carnage he’d left behind for her to discover as she’d hunted him around the galaxy. “I don’t enjoy it.”

“Yes, well, you don’t have to enjoy this either. It is simply a way to dispatch something easily.” Trilla's presence in the Force presses in on him through her contact with his hand.

Cal takes a shuddering breath. “What are you doing?”

“Pay attention,  _ padawan _ .” Trilla turns his hand palm up, cupping it from beneath with her crimson lined glove. She curls her fingers, and his, into clawed positions. “You must perceive the core of it’s aura, and then snuff it out.”

Cal is uneasy. She is uncomfortably close in his mind. She’d easily passed any barrier to show him what he was meant to do. There was no way he’d let his guard down  _ that _ much. Was there? He doesn’t recall letting her in. He tamps down on the beginning prickle of his psychometry threatening to manifest. “This doesn’t seem right.”

“What isn’t right is letting it suffocate by leaving it out of its natural environment for so long.” Trilla insists. “This is nothing.”

“Excuse me if I don’t trust you when you say something is ‘nothing’.” Cal says sarcastically. He can feel the fish’s Force signature fading as it hovers in his grasp. She was right. It was suffering.

She makes an amused huff under her breath, “Jedi and their warped senses of propriety…”

“Okay, okay. I’ll try.” Cal closes his eyes, visualizing and stretching out to feel for the flutter of life.

Trilla’s hand twitches beneath his. “There. That’s it.  _ Crush _ it.”

Cal feels hot. He swallows hard. “I can’t.”

“Oh, but you  _ can _ .” Her voice, with its rich timbre, seems to caress him. Her hand is a fiery brand under his. He knows she’s leaned closer to him while his eyes are shut. He swears he can feel the warmth of her breath at his ear. “Don’t be afraid.”

His fingers clench. The tiny, shimmering light in his mind’s eye blinks out. Cal opens his eyes to see the fish floating lifeless in the air before him. Reflexively, he pulls his hand to his chest as though he’s been burned. Trilla seems to anticipate his reaction and snatches it before it hits the ground. Cal stumbles back from her. The oppressive closeness of her slips away from his mind. “That was too easy.” He murmurs as he stares down at his hand. His stomach turns.

“Indeed. Being such a small life form and very weak in the Force, it hardly takes any effort.” Trilla walks past him with their bounty in hand, sounding unfazed. Cal follows her in a daze. “To perform such a feat on a larger, sentient being? Not as simple, but achievable, in the right circumstances.”

Cal can’t imagine doing that to another person. To anyone. Anger colors his tone, “It’s a dark side technique, isn’t it? You influenced me to use the dark—“

“ _ No _ .” She whirls to face him, expression steely. “No, it is only as dark as you make it, Kestis. Do you want to know the origin of that maneuver?”

He nods hesitantly. 

“Jedi healers developed it. They would use the Force to manually keep a patient alive. Over time, it was learned by dark side users, and they reversed its original intention - using it to  _ end _ lives, instead of prolonging them.”

Cal balls his offending hand into a fist at his side. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Trilla shakes her head, annoyance dripping from her tone, “Forget what you were told of the dark side. There is no singular act that defines it. It is one’s intention that indicates it.” 

“But, I  _ intended _ to kill—“ 

She laughs. “You make a decision to slaughter all the time, Kestis. Does that mean you have fallen into darkness?”

“Well, no…” 

“Indeed. Were you feeding off of a negative emotion to take this poor fish’s life?” She holds it up for him to see.

Cal flushes, thinking about how he’d been overwhelmed by her in that moment, “I don’t think so.”

“Then do not worry for your righteous Jedi soul.” She turns to walk away, her dark hair swaying across her shoulders. It looks so very soft. 

_ Stop it. Stop thinking about her like that _ …

Cal takes a deep breath, trying to sort out the jumble of emotions that had twisted up inside him in just the last hour. 

“But…” Trilla adds smugly, even as he seeks clarity, “...knowledge of that technique would be a benefit to you as an Inquisitor.”

He bites the inside of his cheek and refrains from giving her a response. 

——

They return to the cave and barely exchange a word as Trilla prepares the fish over the primitive grill she’d created. Cal sits nearby. He hasn’t eaten in days, having been too preoccupied with Trilla’s absence. The Force could only sustain him for so long... The smell of the meat reminded him of that. 

He rubs at his aching shin. Their combat earlier had stressed the newly repaired bone. Still, he doesn’t regret it. The chance to exercise his abilities had been refreshing. Even if it had been motivated by his frustrations with her. 

Fighting her was exhilarating in a way that was only matched by one thing.

The one thing he was trying not to dwell on. 

Cal is sure not to look at her mouth when she abruptly speaks, “Your form is sloppy.”

He balks, caught off guard, “What?”

“It’s unrefined and erratic. You lack any sort of tact in your movements. It’s like you’re wildly guessing with every blow.”

Cal opens his mouth, closes it, and then mutters, “Okay then, tell me what you  _ really _ think.”

“I’m getting to that.” She wags a finger at him as she paces back and forth on the other side of their sizzling meal, “What is clearly a lack in proper training, makes you unpredictable. I cannot always see your next move, and that is not something I admit lightly.”

“Thank you…?” Was that a compliment? He couldn’t tell. 

“Tighten your form and your swordsmanship will improve.” Trilla clasps her hands behind her back, “And  _ don’t _ throw your lightsaber at me again. That was just ridiculous.”

“Noted.” Cal frowns. He’s not sure why she’s telling him any of this, though he will take her words into account. It wasn’t like anyone else was giving him input. Cere had seemed to assume his skills were up to task from the beginning. Then again, Cal hadn’t exactly asked for any guidance. He’d just winged it all this time. Relying on the faded memories of his master’s teachings.

They only got him so far. 

In a way, battling Trilla had forced him to adapt and hone his abilities. When he faced the Ninth Sister on Kashyyyk, it was the experience he’d gained dueling Trilla that aided in his victory. 

“Also,” Trilla pauses, eyes dropping to his hip and then flicking back up, “You show promise using Jar’Kai, but be aware that dual wielding disallows you to put much weight behind your attacks.” 

“Didn’t seem to matter much when I had you on your back foot earlier.” Cal counters, watching the way she rolls her eyes in response. 

“It might matter if you face an opponent more powerful than myself.” She says, a warning edge to her tone. 

Cal raises a brow, “And who might that be?” 

He doesn’t like the way her eyes unfocus and her body visibly tenses. She sounds haunted, “My masters.”

“Well, I might have to, if you bring me to them.” He crosses his arms over his chest, “That is still your plan, isn’t it?”

Trilla blinks down the bridge of her nose at him, “Of course.”

“Of course.” He echoes tiredly.

It’s a tense few minutes before Trilla declares their food ready. Cal, trying not to remember how he’d dispatched it, devours his fish down to the last morsel. He catches Trilla staring at him occasionally and he self consciously wipes at his mouth, wondering if there’s something on his face. 

The day is waning by the time they put their makeshift camp right. There is nothing left to do but pass the time before their internal clocks compel them to sleep. Cal settles on his knees to meditate. It is a practice that he’s long overdue to partake in. While Trilla had been missing, he’d attempted it several times, but his mind had been far too troubled by her absence… He says nothing as he hears her drop down across from him. Did she also intend to meditate, or was she simply watching him? Just as he’s nearly slipped into the Force, she speaks, “What would you do with the holocron?”

_ If you don’t take it from me? _

He doesn’t open his eyes. If she wants to know, he’ll give her the truth. “I want to rebuild the Jedi Order.”

She laughs once, “With my traitorous master and a handful of younglings that are likely too old to begin teaching?”

Cal reminds himself that he’s supposed to be trying to calm his mind. He lets a breath out evenly, “It’s not unheard of to begin instruction late.”

“You know you won’t be able to protect them.”

The vision in the vault comes back to him vividly - the fear he’d felt as he was forced to watch all he hoped for fall apart… It had been disturbing to face himself as what he feared most. The antithesis of what he wanted to be. An agent of the dark side. He looks up to meet her intense gaze. “Would you harm them?”

Trilla’s brow twitches imperceptibly and her eyes dart to the side, “It doesn’t matter. Someone will.”

“But, would  _ you _ ?” Cal asks again. 

“I can’t say.” She admits quietly. He notices her hands clenching tighter on her knees. “Perhaps I would.”

He thinks about the worry and grief she’d felt for the younglings in her care when she was captured years ago. Those emotions were still fresh in his memory. He doubted they had faded from hers either. Considering how strongly they were imprinted on her weapon. “I don’t think you could.”

Her brow furrows, a pained expression, “There are many things I never thought myself capable of, Kestis.”

“You can move past those things...”

“ _ Move past them _ ?” She stands suddenly, coldly hissing, “For what? There is nothing for me outside the Empire!”

_ Are you sure about that?  _ He wants to say, but he holds his tongue. He watches Trilla leave the cavern. BD-1 warbles softly from beside him. “Go ahead, buddy. I’ll be there soon.” The droid scampers off after the woman with a soft affirmative beep.

Cal tries to meditate, find some sort of peace, but the clouds in his mind do not dissipate. 

As is often the case these days, all he can think about is her.

——

When Cal joins Trilla later in the rocks below the cliffs, the sun is almost over the horizon. A soft sunset splashes across the sky. She stands with her hands clasped behind her, watching it. A dark silhouette. 

They stand in the stillness and bear witness to the world’s star pass out of sight. The alpenglow bathes them in pale pink. It’s peaceful. It feels like a respite. Cal lets his awareness stretch out from himself, taking in everything he can. The Force is a warm hum. Like the waters of the spring, it surrounds him and eases him. Cal glances to his unlikely companion in the twilight. She is so very still. A carven image of poise and power. He tentatively brushes against her presence. Not unlike how she had done to him earlier at the lake. She inhales sharply and looks over to glare at him. Cal flushes. Maybe that had been presumptive of him to do…?

She’d felt like a dark torrent threatening to drown him. How could she be so outwardly calm while such turmoil roiled inside her? Did she always feel this way?

BD-1 beeps excitedly, distracting Cal from his somber thoughts. The droid chases after a shimmering green insect, trying to scan it. More of the same winged bugs are startled skyward. They glow in the cool night air. 

Trilla pulls one to her hand with the Force, caging it between her gloved fingers. It flutters uselessly against her crimson palms. Cal tenses, unsure of her intentions for it. “Droid.” She calls. BD-1 stops hopping around and whips its ‘head’ towards her. Trilla leans down to hold her hand out, “Here.”

Cal is taken aback at her soft tone. When BD-1 ceases it’s scan, she lets the insect free. He watches it fade into the darkness. “I wonder where it’s going.”

“Probably to its death.”

He sighs in exasperation at her dreary assessment. There is nothing left to see but the deep blue of near pitch darkness. Yet, they remain beside each other. 

Waiting each other out. 

There is the grinding of rocks beneath boots as Trilla shifts beside him. Her tone is guarded, low, “Are you still upset with me?”

Was he?

He wants to be. He thinks he should be. 

“I don’t know...” His voice comes out softer than he intends. “I don’t know, Trilla.”

For the briefest of moments, he swears he feels her hand brush his, but it’s gone as a distant sound alerts them both to something descending towards them. There is a low roar somewhere above them. Cal’s eyes widen as he looks up to the dark sky. Trilla does the same. There’s nothing at first, but lights eventually flicker through the high cloud cover. They reveal a starship. Medium class, a gunship of sorts. Cal glances to Trilla. She narrows her eyes at the descending craft. “I sense several life forms...”

“It doesn’t look Imperial!” Cal raises his voice to be heard over the whine of the engines.

“No! It’s unmarked!” Trilla lifts an arm to shield her face from the dust and debris kicked up by the ship’s landing.

Cal moves closer to her. He squints up into the lights now shining down directly on them. “Is this the part where I pretend to be your prisoner and you force these guys to take us to the nearest Imperial outpost?”

“You wouldn’t be pretending.” She pats the binders on her belt, “I’d have you in these.”

“Fun.” He intones dryly, “So…?”

Trilla gives him an incredulous look. “You  _ want _ to play it like that?”

“Well, no. But I just assumed once we had a way out of here, that you’d try to make me your prisoner again.”

She shakes her head, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that statement.

The ship has landed. They watch the ramp descend from it’s belly. Two figures stride out. As he takes them in, Cal realizes just who they are dealing with. The universe has a sick sense of humor. “ _ Great _ .”

He hears Trilla sigh, “Friends of yours?”

“Absolutely not.” 

“ _ Fantastic _ .” 

Clearly marked in Haxion Brood colors, a heavily armored humanoid and a large combat droid approach. They halt a half a dozen meters from them. The droid throws a scan over them. The human speaks, “We picked up a beacon.” The voice is heavily modulated, “I assume you’re the ones in distress?”

“Yeah.” Cal tries to smile convincingly, “We could use a lift.”

“We aren’t in the business of giving free rides—” The human pauses as the droid says something to him in binary. It’s obviously saying something important from the way it has the human’s full attention. There is an awkward beat of realization before the man brandishes his weapon, “But we are in the business of collecting bounties,  _ Jedi _ . It seems that Sorc Tormo wants your head.”

“How unfortunate for Sorc Tormo.” Trilla steps between Cal and the hunters, “This Jedi’s head is already spoken for.”

Cal’s eyes widen on her back. What was she doing?

“And who the hell are you?” The bounty hunter growls.

Trilla’s double blades ignite menacingly, “Someone you’d be a great fool to cross.”

“With a bounty this high at stake? We’ll take our chances.” 

They open fire. 

Cal dives out from behind Trilla and joins her in deflecting blaster bolts. Their weapons are a rapid repeating type, making it difficult to send the bolts back with much accuracy. “That escalated quickly!” He says above the blaster fire.

“You don’t say?!” Trilla’s red sabers are a blur as she bats away every bolt with ease.

A telltale glimmer appears out of the wrist armor of the human and Cal manages to barely avoid the deceptively small projectile shot from it. It flies between him and Trilla and explodes the rocky outcropping behind them. Cal’s ears ring painfully. BD-1 warbles in concern. Cal doesn’t catch what it said - he’s too busy dodging and weaving his way closer to the hunter. Trilla has flashed stepped to the hulking combat droid and Cal catches the moment she slices off it’s left arm. Sparks fly. He’s only looking away for a second, but it’s enough time for his opponent to throw a cable around his ankles. Cal falls into a forward roll and his saber cuts easily through the wiring. In a blink, he’s back on his feet like nothing happened. He reaches out to ‘freeze’ the bounty hunter with the Force. 

He hears Trilla give a cry. 

Cal’s eyes find her instantly. Electricity is crackling over her body. The droid’s remaining arm is dispensing the current. The droid makes a strange noise. Almost like a laugh. It’s abruptly cut off by a red blade through it’s processing unit and a desperate growl from Trilla. She sways on her feet as the droid tips backwards into the ground with a great crash - sparking and whining in its final moments.

Cal takes two hurried steps towards her, “Are you alright?” 

A spark travels down her arm as she snaps her gaze to him, hair a wild mess, looking equally murderous and beautiful, “Worry about  _ yourself _ , Kestis!”

He barely dodges a blaster bolt from the human hunter, who has just come out from under the influence of the Force. “Jedi scum!” Cal side-steps another shot and rips the weapon from the man with a wave of his hand. The bounty hunter snarls in frustration and pulls a round object from his belt. He holds down a button on it. “I’ll blow us all into the atmosphere if you come any closer!”

Cal glances at Trilla, who stops in her tracks. He gives her a warning look. She rolls her eyes and addresses the clearly disturbed man, “There’s no need for dramatics. Disarm the detonator and surrender.”

“No! I’m in control here!” He snaps. “Lay down your laser swords!”

Something tugs at the edge of Cal’s awareness. He sees a shadow move at the top of the ship’s ramp. Before he can react, a single blue blaster bolt hits the bounty hunter in the back of the neck. Right between his helmet and back armor. Cal feels the abrupt death. As the bounty hunter sinks to his knees, Trilla reaches out with the Force and tugs the charge from his grasp. She sends it flying towards the lake. A moment later the water erupts in a geyser. The ground shakes violently.

“Well, well, well… Wasn’t that  _ exciting _ ?” An unfamiliar voice drawls. Cal narrows his eyes at a figure coming towards them down the gangway. He approaches them slow and unconcerned, a blaster loose in his grip. In the light of the open door, his features are clear. He is a Weequay, adorned in a flamboyant red coat, smiling disarmingly at them as he waves his arms about, “Oho! A Jedi! I thought I heard the distinct hum of a lightsaber!” His enthusiasm dims as he notes Trilla’s red sabers and her Imperial garb, “And you are a uh...?”

“ _ Inquisitor _ .” She intones dryly.

“That’s a new one.” He says, almost to himself. 

Cal disengages his lightsaber. Trilla does not. He takes a step forward towards their unexpected ally, “Who are you?”

“Ah! My name is Hondo Ohnaka!” The Weequay gives a half bow. “Pirate, gentleman, and perhaps an ally?”

Trilla sighs, pointing one end of her blade between Hondo and the man he’d dispatched, “Why did you kill him? Are you not part of the crew?”

“Oh, you see…” Hondo appears sheepish, “I am in some eh…  _ trouble _ with the Rang Clan and these fellows here,” He gestures to the corpse at his feet and the wreckage of the droid, “they were attempting to collect the bounty on my head. Unfortunately for them, they do not know my reputation!” He points a finger at himself, “I always escape! It just so happened that my prison break from their holding cell coincided perfectly with this little detour! And behold! The universe has brought us together!”

“Kestis,” Trila sweeps past Hondo, her sabers finally powering down, “I suggest we leave this chattering mynock on this rock.” She disappears into the ship.

“Wait. She is talking about me?” The pirate gasps, before turning to appeal to Cal, “I will  _ not _ be left behind, Jedi.”

Cal follows after Trilla, “I think you’ll be fine, just don’t antagonize her.” 

“Of course, of course.” 

Cal wrinkles his nose as he enters the main hold of the ship. It’s dirty and cold and dark. Everything the _Stinger_ _Mantis_ was not. He wanders towards the bow, the direction Trilla had surely gone. The corridor is dimly lit and the decking creaks with each step. He comes to a door and when he triggers it, it hisses open to reveal Trilla already seated at the controls. She slowly turns to him, hands hovering over the console. Cal raises a brow at the odd expression on her face, “What is it?”

“Do you feel that?”

A subtle tremor shakes the ship. It vibrates beneath his boots. Cal opens his mouth but immediately closes it at an ear piercing shriek that rattles the viewport. He winces and holds his hands over his ears. BD-1 whistles in alarm. Trilla hits a button on the console. The ship’s exterior lights blink on. The shore line of the lake is immediately visible. At first, there is nothing out of place to be seen. That is, until a glowing green tentacle drapes down over the viewport with an audible ‘thump!’. 

“What is  _ that _ ?!” Cal widens his stance to prevent from losing balance as the entire ship rocks to the side. 

Frantic footfalls race toward them. The Weequay pirate stumbles in and cries, “By the many moons of Iego! A monster just crawled from that lake! I barely escaped!”

“Did you happen to have the good sense to raise the gangway behind you?!” Trilla snaps.

Hondo cringes, “Ah, no… I was in too much of a hurry trying not to become a meal...”

The sound of straining metal is foreboding. Trilla curses. “It’s going to rip us apart if we don’t do something about it!” As if to punctuate her statement, an alarm begins blaring loudly at them. Something is critically damaged. She points at Cal. “Go secure the ramp! I’m taking us up!”

Cal doesn’t question her. He races down the hall, sliding to a stop short of the open door. Bioluminescent arms sway and writh just inside it, as if searching for something to take hold of. His hand goes to his hip first, fingers wrapping around his lightsaber hilt. If he hurt it, would it retreat? Or would it simply get angrier? Cal loosens his grip and instead stretches his arm towards the exploratory limbs slithering along the decking. 

_ What do you want? _

Just a simple touch has Cal recoiling back in shock. He is assaulted with images and feelings he can’t even begin to describe. A constant cry, a primal urge, an ancient knowing. This creature indeed inhabited the depths of the lake. It had been there before the planet became a desolate scape. It remembered an age when the surface world was green and teeming with life.

Across time, it had had a singular purpose. A symbiotic incentive. It offered protection for the kyber crystals under the world’s surface, and in return, the Force sustained it. 

So why hadn’t it attacked them when they first crashed? The entire time they had been there? Why were they a threat now?

Was it the ship? Their battle with the bounty hunters? 

Whatever the reason, it had decided they were a nuisance. Cal nearly falls through the door as the ship lurches skyward. He tries to Force push the tentacles out of the vessel, but they grip the durasteel deck stubbornly. “Sorry about this…” He ignites one end of his saber and pokes at the glowing appendages. The creature screeches from somewhere atop the ship. It retracts it’s limbs. Cal slaps the door panel and wills the ramp to raise faster.

It’s not fast enough. 

A tentacle darts back in and wraps around his chest. Cal grunts in surprise. It tightens its grip. Cal coughs and gasps for air. BD-1 clambers over his shoulder and electrocutes the squeezing arm. The shock travels into him as well, but he bears it with a groan. The creature lets him go just before the door hisses shut, barely managing to avoid being caught in the seal. Cal falls back onto the deck and gulps for air. BD-1 warbles in concern. “I’m fine, but that was… not fun.”

“Kestis!”

Cal hauls himself to his feet and hurries back to the cockpit. Trilla is straining to keep the ship steady. “What can I do?” He grips the back of her seat to keep his balance. 

“It’s stuck to the exterior. There’s a mounted gun in the aft - it  _ might _ be able to kill it.”

He shakes his head, “No. We can’t kill it.”

“What?!” She eases the ship into a tight, circular path, a futile attempt to dislodge the beast with centrifugal force. “This is no time for your Jedi compassion! You’ve slain plenty of beasts!”

“This one is different! It needs to live!” Cal attempts to reach it through the Force, but it is resistant. Uncaring. There was a chance that perhaps it was hearing the wrong voice. “Trilla, you should try and connect with it.”

Hondo pipes up from the corner of the cockpit he’d lodged himself against, “ _ Connect _ with it!? Please, boy, it’s not some docile dewback! It’s a horror from the deep!”

“Trilla, just  _ try _ !” Cal appeals to her. “Unless you have any better ideas?!”

She slows the ship. It hovers over the lake, still shuddering as the creature continues to test for weaknesses in the hull. Cal holds his breath as she bows her head a fraction. “Fine.”

=+=

Trilla doesn’t need to see the monster to commune with it. The moment she taps into the Force, she is surrounded by its presence. As if it had been waiting. 

_ Remove yourself and return to where you belong.  _ She sternly projects.

The edges of her awareness brighten the same shade as the creature's glow and an impossibly deep tone resonates in her mind,  _ You must not leave. _

_ I will do as I wish.  _ Trilla grits her teeth. She feels the yoke shake in her hands _.  _ Kestis’s concern is a pressing warmth to her right.

The voice is a roar in her head,  _ Heed me, child, you have a purpose to fulfill— A purpose I saved you for. _

The memory of being pulled to the bottom of the lake is suddenly clear in her mind. Had this been the creature that brought her back to the caverns? Had it kept her for all that missing time? She is unnerved at the revelation.  _ I don’t care for the whims of the Force. I am not staying. _

The ship stills.  _ You would abandon a touchstone of fate?  _

_ I’m not interested.  _ She distantly hears the Jedi call her name _. I’m sure my destiny is far from this wretched place. _

_ Yes and no. It is both near and far. Here, and everywhere you choose take it.  _ The pressure lifts from her mind abruptly _. You will return to my waters. I will wait.  _ A blur of glowing green slips down the front of the ship, tipping the nose towards the illuminated waves below. In the next instant, it vanishes beneath the surface. It’s shimmer fading to nothing. Gone as quickly as it came.

Trilla sighs in relief. 

“She actually did it!” The pirate splutters in bafflement somewhere behind her. 

Kestis plops down wearily into the co-pilot’s chair, “Hey, are you okay?”

She gives him a withering look. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He sighs audibly. She ignores his pouting and pulls back on the yoke. The ship ascends above the cloud bank, obscuring the lake and the cliffs. In the final moments before they escape the atmosphere, Trilla feels a strange ache in her chest. 

_ You will return.  _

_ We will see. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how will cal and trilla’s relationship evolve now that they are free to roam the galaxy? what are trilla’s intentions for cal? 
> 
> will hondo prove to be a help or a hindrance to them? knowing that pirate, he’ll likely end up being both. 
> 
> and what the hell was that tentacle monster talking about?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is super long, so hold onto your butts.

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

Speckled with distant stars and worlds, the galaxy yawns wide. A vast expanse of prospective destinations. 

The hyperdrive whines loud and labored before sputtering out. 

They weren’t going to be going anywhere quickly, it seemed.

Trilla can feel the Jedi’s gaze hot on the side of her face. It’s obvious he wants to say something. Part of her wishes he’d just spit it out, while most of her is grateful for his silence. Trilla tries powering up the hyperdrive again. There is a concerning rumble and then a rough shake.  _ Nothing _ . She smacks the console abruptly in frustration. Nothing could go her way, could it?

“Uh, sorry to interrupt the  _ riveting _ conversation you two are  _ not _ having, but it seems that we are experiencing mechanical difficulties?” The pirate pipes up.

Trilla glances back over her shoulder at him with a withering expression, “That wretched creature damaged something… the hyperdrive is offline.” She scowls as she checks the readouts on the console. Echoes of the monster’s prophetic words crowd her mind.  _ ‘You have a purpose to fulfill.’ _ What a ridiculous notion. Her only purpose was to bring suffering to those around her… and now she was failing at even that. “We should have killed it.” 

Kestis speaks quietly to her right, the first words he’d uttered since they left that damnable world’s atmosphere, “I’m glad we didn’t. It could be the last of its kind.” 

Trilla freezes with a sharp intake of breath through her nose. 

A memory, not her own, flashes behind her eyes. Hands hold back a great and powerful beast. A woman calls for its death. ‘ _ Ventress! It may be the last of its kind!’  _ She hears a man cry. Agony and sadness and anger grip Trilla as she senses a painful demise. The dark side is overwhelming and smothering and  _ rotten _ ...

A sickening feeling, like excitement, floods her. It’s wrong in a way she is too familiar with, and yet, this feeling is  _ not _ hers. 

With a tight clench of her jaw and a shaky breath, she banishes the overwhelming flashback from her mind.

“Trilla?” The Jedi’s voice holds a concerned edge.

The durasteel grip she has on the armrests of her chair slowly relaxes. Her voice sounds rough to her own ears as she stands, “I’m… I’m going to assess the damage.”

As she goes to pass the Weequay on her way out, she shoves him against the door frame. He yelps when she presses one of the emitters of her saber to his gut. “If you so much as  _ blink _ wrong, pirate, I’ll end your insignificant life. Do you understand?”

Kestis is on edge behind her. She ignores his obvious disapproval. The pirate nods rapidly, raising his hands in placation, “I have no quarrel with you, my dear. I’ll be on my  _ best _ behavior.”

“Hopefully your best is good enough.” Trilla says moodily before stalking down the passageway towards where she assumes the engine compartment is located. For a brief moment she thinks Kestis will follow her, but she can hear him giving the pirate something that sounded like an apology followed by a laugh. 

What a fool. 

It doesn’t escape her that she is increasingly regarding the Jedi as an ally. It wasn’t that she trusted him exactly, it was more that she felt she could rely on his inane Jedi morals to prevent him from stabbing her in the back. And despite her repeated disregard for his feelings, she knew he was still stubbornly holding onto his affection for her. It was obvious. The way his emerald eyes darkened when she was near to him, how his voice wavered when he had pressed her for answers concerning what he meant to her, and in his concern for her well-being in the middle of conflict. 

Perhaps he is still unhappy with her for what she’d done, but she can be sure that he wouldn’t betray her outright. Not now. Not after everything they’d been through.

_ Stupid boy _ . 

Trilla sweeps into the engine compartment, it was less dramatic of an entrance without her cape, but then again it was never the most practical accessory... 

There is a foul smell of something like burnt electronics in the smoky air. It is immediately obvious where the issue is stemming from. The hyperdrive housing is dull and lifeless. 

As she suspected.

Just as she’s about to touch it, a high pitched, tinny voice calls from a shadowed corner behind her, “Hey! Who are  _ you?! _ ”

Her saber is ignited and leveled at the newcomer in a half second. Trilla’s heart pounds irrationally. She hears the sharp closeness of blaster fire and the rhythmic march of hundreds of metal bodies and the screams of men and she can feel her pulse against the handle of her saber—  _ death death death _ ...

It is a battle droid. 

A classic B1 model. The sort she’s destroyed scores of… in a different life. Long ago. Trilla swallows hard and fights against the irrational reaction she’s having. It is clearly non-combative and unarmed. It cowers back from her blade. “Ahhhh!”

Yes. Definitely not a threat. Her adrenaline wanes, “What are you doing on this ship?” 

“I’m just the mechanic!” It insists, “I was assessing the damage and collecting some preliminary data!” It holds out a datapad to her like a peace offering. 

A relic of the Clone Wars was the last thing she expected to find today, but if this droid could help her, she wasn’t going to scrap it just yet. Trilla’s sheaths her saber and she snatches the report from it. A cursory glance at the results confirms her suspicions. “The sublight engines seem to be fine. Have you performed a diagnostic on them yet?”

“Roger roger. They are functioning normally.” The droid tips it’s thin head to the side, “Ehh, you are not my master. Where is Master Atticus?”

She doesn’t look up from the pad, “ _ Dead _ .”

“Oh.” It intones flatly. “I suppose I shall serve you now.”

“You shall. Now, do what you can to take care of the smaller issues—“

Kestis picks that moment to appear in the doorway. He stops short. She can feel his shock as he takes in the sight. The Jedi’s little companion beeps a greeting to the battle droid. “Hello BD-1, I am Rod!” The gangly droid responds with a robotic wave.

An awkward beat passes before Kestis steps closer, “It’s not as tall as I remember them being.”

Trilla rolls her eyes, “You were a child, Kestis. Of course they seemed taller.”

“It was a  _ joke _ .” He shakes his head at her, a small smile on his lips. 

_ Don’t think about his mouth. Don’t think about his mouth. Don’t think about his mouth _ . 

“I’m not laughing.” She sniffs and backs up to get a better look at the hyperdrive, “It appears we are going to be relegated to real space until we get this repaired.”

“I guess that means you’re stuck with me a little longer then.” He sounds like he’s trying to be amusing again, but Trilla easily hears the uncertainty in his voice. 

As far as he knew, she still intended to bring him to her masters. As for what Trilla herself knew? Well, that was far more complicated now. 

The Grand Inquisitor would certainly discover just how insubordinate she’d been in her absence. From either her or the Jedi, he would discover everything. He always did.

_ Kestis will be tortured. His mind will give up what transpired between you two. He’ll be ripped open and he will expose you and your failings. All will be revealed _ . 

Realistically, if she wanted to keep the events of the past week a secret, the Jedi would need to die. Or… she could let him go. And even then, she couldn’t rely on her own mind not to crack under interrogation. None of these options appealed to her, if she was honest with herself.

And while she could be honest with herself, she wasn’t ready to be honest with him.

“Count yourself fortunate, Jedi.”

“To share recycled air with you for the foreseeable future?” He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side, sarcasm drips from his tone, “I’m  _ so _ lucky.”

“Truly.” She says dryly as she projects a holographic nav chart from the datapad. “We need to find someplace with the ability to make the repairs we need.”

Kestis hovers near her shoulder to look at the projected chart. Her skin prickles at his proximity. She struggles not to recall how he’d felt to her at the lake shore. His hand burning in her palm, the way his mind had opened to her and just how easy it had been to coax him into using a Force technique of…  _ questionable _ morality. 

_ Too easy, indeed _ . 

He would make a fine Inquisitor. 

The thought doesn’t fill her with smug satisfaction anymore - only a grim acceptance. 

“Wait, is this where we were?” He points out the small world nearly overlapping their coordinates. “Onveon?” She likes the way the name sounds rolling off his lips. 

_ Stop it. _

Trilla zooms in. The planet is classified as hostile and unsuitable for settlement. That sounded right. A notable section of text indicated that the world endured a planet wide ice-over around once every standard year. Interesting. “It appears so.”

Kestis hums, frowning at the small holographic representation of the planet. 

She raises a brow at his obvious discontent, “What is it?”

The Jedi shifts his weight between feet and worries at his scarred bottom lip. “I’ve been to Ilum.”

Trilla blinks, uncomprehending as to why he would bring the planet up, “Yes. I know.”

“Yeah, well, have you been there recently?”

The reports had indicated he’d been traversing the ancient Jedi paths through the icy caves before he escaped. “No, though I am aware of mining operations underway...” It was obvious for what reason the Empire had a presence there. It was no secret among the upper echelon of the Imperial hierarchy that kyber was in high demand by the Emperor, though few knew for what exact purpose. 

She was not one of the few. 

“Trilla.” He stares emphatically into her eyes over the glowing blue holochart, “The Empire is  _ destroying _ it.”

_ The Empire has ruined us! The Empire took everything from me! To the Empire, we’re just expendable! _

The amount of times she’d heard lamentations of that sort was uncountable. From haughty warlords, to pleading governors, to the simple galactic civilian caught at the end of her blades. She is reminded of Kestis’s mouthy companion on Bracca - and the cry of anguish the Jedi had given as she’d taken that foolhardy Abednedo’s life… “What the Empire does to that miserable ball of ice is of no concern to me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes dropping to the flickering hologram, “I don’t want to see that happen on Onveon.”

Ah. She understands now. Kestis was concerned that she would report the contents of the planet’s caverns to her masters. As if she would even have a choice in surrendering that knowledge. “I have no doubt the Empire will find their way there in due time, whether they learn of it from me or not.” 

His shoulders drop, “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“Why does it matter?” The words come out harsh, “The Jedi Order is  _ gone _ . They no longer have a need for kyber.”

She catches a touch of indignation in his tone, “ _ I _ care. I found a crystal on Ilum.”

A flash of her own crystal, gleaming clear and bright in pitch darkness crosses her mind. It had been a terrifying trial for her as a youngling. Not even Master Yoda’s calm approval when she returned to the frigid outer atrium had eased her anxiety. Trilla pushes the memory down firmly. 

Why had Kestis even needed another crystal? For the other half of his saber? He’d completely rebuilt it, she’d observed… Surely he hadn’t risked going to Ilum just to add another side to his weapon… It puzzles her, but it isn’t of importance at the moment.

“Good for you.” She mutters dismissively as she scrolls through the list of the nearest planets and moons. They are all too far away for sublight travel. Not without days of real space travel time and refueling at least once. 

The pirate leans into the compartment and sniffs the acrid air, “I take it we are in a spot of trouble?” 

Trilla resists the urge to chuck the datapad at his head and instead sighs longsufferingly, “We need to find a port, yes.”

“What system are we in now?” 

Trilla squints at the chart, “Cestus.”

Hondo strokes his chin and wags a finger, “Well, I might know a place.”

Trilla lifts a single brow. She has little patience for the pirate, “Go on.”

“First, we must discuss proper compensation for my services— Ah!” The pirate lifts his hands placatingly as Trilla advances on him. 

“The only thing you will be receiving from us is the privilege of being allowed to continue  _ breathing _ .”

“My, my… Touchy, aren’t you?” 

She narrows her eyes. “Prove your usefulness or you’re going to find yourself taking a short walk out the airlock.”

“Fair enough.” Hondo grumbles as he adjusts his goggles, “I can give you coordinates to a place that can repair your ship. It will not be cheap, I can tell you that. Though, you might be able to acquire a fair amount of credits in exchange for the cargo on board this ship.”

“And what is this cargo?” Trilla asks, mock sweetly.

The Weequay looks between she and the Jedi, “Well, eh… it’s a tad  _ macabre _ , but as from far as I could tell when I was being so unkindly dragged aboard, it appeared to be the lifeless shell of some unlucky soul.” 

“A mark of the bounty hunters we killed?” Kestis comes to stand beside her, “Are you suggesting we collect the bounty?”

Hondo nods enthusiastically, “Yes! I knew you were smarter than you looked, boy!” Trilla has to smirk at that. Kestis mutters something under his breath. Hondo assesses them with a sage like nod, “I suppose you two  _ might _ pass for bounty hunters. You certainly have the scars for it, Jedi.”

Trilla’s eyes are drawn to his face. He is touching the line of angry flesh running from his jaw down to his neck. His throat works in a swallow. She looks away. 

Something was telling her that it wasn’t a wise idea. She can’t place why, but she isn’t about to ignore her instincts. “No. I’m not stooping to common criminality. The bounty can rot for all I care.”

Kestis grumbles, but doesn’t disagree with her. “How noble of you.”

She ignores his barb to address the pirate, “Where is this location you speak of? I’ve done the calculations, and with the fuel we have, we aren’t near enough to make it to any planet in the charts.”

Hondo gives them a sly smile, “Who said it was a planet?”

=+=

Trilla had swept out of the engine compartment as soon as she’d gotten the coordinates from Hondo. The pirate scoffed about her lack of thanks and wandered off to “find something edible”. 

Cal is left alone. 

He brushes his hand along the cracking padding of the passageways as he moves from one room to the next. Most areas are a mess of crates and assorted junk, but when he finds the fresher, it’s notably cleaner than the rest of the ship. A welcome surprise. Cal catches his reflection in the mirror and winces at the sight of himself. He looks  _ rough _ . A cursory search of the lockers reveals an untouched personal kit. He scrubs his face raw with freezing water and watches, with mild disgust, the brownish grey water circle down the drain. The razor is basic, but he makes due. Soon, he is looking more himself and a lot less… scruffy. He rakes his hair into place and steps back to survey his work. Not terrible. He’d only nicked himself a few times where he’d gotten lazy and rushed it. 

He almost reflexively asks BD-1 how he looks, but he stops himself. The little droid had stayed with the battle droid in the engine compartment. BD-1 was programmed to be curious, and what could be more interesting than a battle droid turned bounty hunter’s mechanic? 

Okay, a lot of things could be more interesting, but he wasn’t going to dissuade his companion from making a new friend.

Feeling refreshed, Cal makes his way towards the hold. Like BD-1, he wants to satisfy his own curiosity. As he enters, auxiliary lighting flickers on above him. He notes a weapons locker nearby. The front of it is grated, offering him a view of the various blasters inside. The late bounty hunter had maintained an impressive arsenal. Across the hold was a large cage bolted to the floor - its door swung open wide.  _ That’s probably where Hondo escaped from… _ Stepping around a broken combat droid and a large swoop bike, Cal approaches a suspiciously shaped oblong container. A square panel glows atop it. As he gets closer, he sees that it is a window into the container. On the other side of the glass lies the open eyed face of a Twi’lek. It appears to be female, but he isn’t sure. The upper right half of the face is cybernetic. Even their right lekku was mechanical. They were obviously the bounty Hondo had spoken of. 

But  _ who _ were they? 

Briefly, he considers opening the refrigerated coffin to touch the ill fated Twi’lek, but decides against it. Something about the way the cybernetic eye is looking straight ahead while the flesh one has rolled back... something is off about it. He can’t place why, but the Force is warning him to stay away. He turns on his heel and leaves the hold. The strange anxiety in his chest dissipates with each step in the opposite direction. 

It’s gotten much colder in the last hour. Trilla must have tampered with the heating. He’s grateful for his poncho as his breath is visible in the flickering emergency lighting above him. He is making his way to the cockpit, when he passes the open doorway to what was clearly the galley. The Weequay pirate waves at him from a booth table inside, “Hey! Why don’t you join me, Jedi? There’s plenty of food and drink in this fine establishment!”

Cal sighs inwardly. He can smell the alcohol wafting off the other as he sits across from him. There’s a spread of assorted foods covering the table. Most look inedible. “You really made yourself at home, huh?” 

“Pah!” Hondo waves a dismissive hand, “Home? No, no, no… This bucket is nothing in comparison to  _ my _ ship!”

“And where is your ship?” Cal picks at what appears to be some sort of vegetable stew that the pirate has shoved at him.

He seems to ponder Cal’s question for a long moment, “You know… I can’t say I know. Last I saw it, I was on Takodana.”

Cal frowns at the slimy texture of the food, but eats it all the same. “Is that where you were captured by the bounty hunters?”

“Ha! No! I got snatched on Nar Shaddaa!” Hondo slams his empty cup onto the table, “I was about to close the deal of a lifetime with one of the Hutts! It would have kept me in business for at  _ least _ the next decade! But fate is a temperamental mistress, my boy! I was rudely abducted while I celebrated! Pride before the fall and all that!”

He raises a scarred brow at the pirate, “You mean you were drunk, and they just took you?” 

Hondo scoffs, “I’ll have you know that I put up a valiant struggle! But in the end, I wagered that it was better to surrender, than to tempt my demise.”

“Live to fight another day, eh?” Cal can understand that. 

“Exactly, my Jedi friend!” The pirate knocks back the rest of his drink and sighs as he slumps deep into his seat, “And look at me now! Alive and full of the most mediocre ale I’ve ever drank!”

He had to admit, Hondo was an interesting one. Cal sets his bowl aside and leans over the table a fraction, propping his elbows on its surface. “You talk like you’ve known some Jedi.”

Hondo’s cheery disposition sobers, “Ah, yes. During the Clone Wars. We had a very… eh,  _ varied _ relationship.”

“But you’ve seen none since then?” Cal hates how young he sounds to his own ears. How hopeful. 

The pirate looks morose as he shakes his head, “No, my boy, you’re the first I’ve seen since the Republic fell. And that woman with you… I noticed that she carries a lightsaber with  _ red _ blades. If I remember correctly, that is  _ not _ the mark of a Jedi…”

Cal swallows hard, “She was one once. Now she hunts them.”

“Ahhh, so you are her prey?” Hondo narrows his eyes and strokes the spiky protrusions along his jaw, “How  _ interesting _ .”

“It’s a little complicated at the moment… I think.” He trails off, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Hondo appears greatly amused at that, “I can tell.”

“Yeah?” Cal feels his face flush against his will. “Is it obvious?”

“Does Tatooine have two suns?”

“Yes.” He answers quickly and then blinks in belated comprehension. “ _ Oh _ .”

“I understand, my boy.” Hondo sighs wistfully, “I once was romantically involved with the most deadly of huntresses… such a beautiful being she was… There was no comparison among all the stars...”

Cal tunes out the pirate’s amorous recollections. What did it mean if even this drunken pirate could see something between him and Trilla? 

As much as he wanted an answer, she was becoming increasingly difficult to read. Even as he got to know her better, she managed to consistently keep him guessing. Catching him off guard at every turn. 

Like she had with the kiss. 

He drags his bottom lip through his teeth. If he concentrates, he can almost feel her mouth on his again… His mind has played with the memory in the time since it occurred - he imagines deepening the kiss, holding her flush against him… his hands being allowed to smooth over the rich tones of her skin...

_ Get a grip. She made it clear it was a one time thing _ .

Some pathetic part of him can’t help but hope she changes her mind about that.

“Well, I’m sure we’ve got a ways to go yet.” The pirate puts a hand to his lower back as he stands, a small groan escaping him as he straightens, “I’m going to try and find a somewhat soft place to lay my head…  _ and _ my back.”

“Uh, yeah… Sure.” Cal raises a brow at Hondo snatching the liquor bottle from the table and waltzing off with it. To each their own, he supposes. He wasn’t much for drinking. A bad experience imbibing smuggled liquor on company time had cured him of the desire years ago. 

Prauf had had words with him that day. The only time he’d gotten truly upset with him.  _ ‘Do you realize just how dangerous it is to be intoxicated on the job? Why, just last week some guy down in the artillery lot got his arm sliced off because he was drunk on site! Cal, I know you’re just a kid, but you’re not an idiot! Come on…’ _

Cal cringes at the memory. He’d been fourteen. He remembers following the Abednedo around for the rest of the day, cheeks flushed from the alcohol but also from a fair bit of shame. At the time he’d played along with Prauf’s assumption that he’d just made a stupid decision - he was merely a kid trying something new… when truthfully, he’d known  _ exactly _ what he was doing. 

It had been an attempt to escape from reality. He’d touched something in a wreck that day that had sent him spiraling. And just because he wasn’t one to partake in illicit goods, didn’t mean he didn’t know who to go to for them when he wanted it. 

That had been the last time he tried to run away from his feelings in such a way. It wasn’t worth the risk or his de facto guardian’s disappointment. 

It was better that Prauf didn’t know the true reason. He would have worried too much. And how would he have understood without him telling him who he truly was? Prauf hadn’t known Cal’s identity as a Jedi until just before the end… 

He can’t think of his friend without remembering his untimely and cruel death. The wound is still so fresh… like a painful echo of his master’s loss. He misses Prauf’s kind heart and well meaning words.

_ And yet, even while knowing what she did to him, you still want her.  _

Cal sucks in a ragged breath. How could he rationalize it? He can’t. The Second Sister that had descended onto the scrap yards like a harbinger of doom was the same woman he’d pulled from the lake on Onveon - saving her life. The same woman he’d let touch him and sleep beside him… No matter how juxtaposed she now seemed to that heartless masked figure he’d clashed with on Bracca, Trilla was still the person that had taken Prauf from him. Her hands had brought about his death. 

Nothing would change that fact. 

He can usually push it to the back of his mind. Now though, guilt eats at him. What in the universe was he doing here? With her? He should be trying to rejoin the Mantis crew. He didn’t even know if they were alright… Were they looking for him? At the very least, he knows he should be attempting to escape before it was too late. 

It’s as he’s having this crisis that he senses the familiar pressure of her Force signature brush against his own. It’s innocent enough, just a brief caress and then it’s gone again. Cal waits, but she doesn’t repeat it. Did she want something from him? 

He is leaving the galley when BD-1 comes scampering up to him, booping at him as it crawls up to his shoulder. “So, did you make a new friend?”

“Boop dee!” 

Cal laughs at the enthusiastic response, “Well, I’ll take a friendly battle droid over a trigger happy one any day.”

He comes across Hondo passed out in the bunk room. The pirate is sprawled half off a bed and snoring. Cal shakes his head at the pitiful sight and subtly waves his hand to lift the pirate fully into the bunk. Hondo snorts in his sleep and mutters something about ‘the best circus act he’s ever seen’. 

_ Weird _ . 

On the bunk above him is a stack of blankets. Cal grabs them and decides he’ll find a  _ quieter _ place to sleep. 

He’s compelled towards the cockpit. It’s been a while since he’d heard anything from Trilla - and after her probing in the Force, he’s a little suspicious. Could she have hailed the Empire? He’d left her with full access to the comms. No... Why act so concerned with reaching a port if she could have the Empire come to her? 

Things weren’t adding up.

They hadn’t been for a while now. 

=+=

The ship, which she’d come to discover was named the  _ Arcanis _ , is going as fast as it can. Trilla has diverted as much power to the engines as possible without cutting life support. The heating system is now running at a quarter strength and as a result the ship has become a  _ lot _ cooler. 

She sniffles and rubs at her nose. According to the computer, if they kept their current pace, it would only be eight standard hours until they arrived at Hondo’s mysterious coordinates. Trilla hopes, for the pirate’s sake, that he is not leading them astray. They don’t have enough fuel for another long sublight flight. 

It was strange to be piloting something other than a TIE fighter for once. Trilla finds herself guessing at these controls half the time. There was so much more to manage in this Kuat custom. Where the bounty hunter had come by such a ship, she can’t begin to imagine. 

This wasn’t to say she wasn’t fast becoming acquainted with the vessel. She’d had to pilot stranger things during the Clone Wars. Cere had encouraged it. 

_ She’d encouraged many things. Only to abandon you in the end.  _

_ Like you were nothing to her. As though she didn’t know how much you loved her— _

Trilla tastes blood. She releases the inside of her cheek from between her teeth. The fresh pain dulls the old wound in her chest. 

Barely. 

The pilot chair creaks as she reclines into it with a weary sigh. She rubs a hand over the scarred tissue on her bicep. The bite has mostly healed, but it still aches occasionally. 

_ Damn fish _ .

She can still recall the way the Jedi had gently tended to her wound - and the concern that had radiated from him then. Impulsively, she seeks out his presence and locates its warmth from somewhere near the center of the ship. Trilla knows he feels her too. She pulls back to herself, satisfied by the knowledge that he’d let her in. He was so open to her now, it was laughable. 

Sometime later, when she is just below the surface of sleep, Trilla feels that same warmth. It’s much closer this time. She keeps her breathing even, eyes closed. His boot steps are careful and near silent as he approaches her. Her body tenses as she begins to question his intentions. How quickly could she draw her saber? Faster than him, she’s sure...

_ What is he doing? What does he want? _

And then, like a light embrace, the weight of a blanket falls over her. Trilla gasps softly, but doesn’t stir. She can’t bring herself to look up now, knowing he’s hovering over her. What could she say? Was she grateful? Yes, but she isn’t about to thank him. And still, any cold words that might have left her lips turn to dust on her tongue. 

He has to know she’s awake. It’s obvious in how he lingers. 

“This means nothing.”

Trilla’s eyes fly open, but he’s already walking away. Her heart pounds inside her chest. She feels exposed - even with the blanket covering her. 

As his words sink in further, white hot anger flares in her stomach. She wants to chase him down and push him against the bulkhead. Hold him there and demand that he explain himself. And yet, she knows exactly why he’d said it. It was for the same reason she had said it after kissing him in those scalding waters. The realization both intrigues her and infuriates her. He was finally playing her game.

She draws the blanket up under her chin and stares out into the slow drag of space. 

The fabric smells musty, like the rest of the ship, but it’s warm. 

Like him.

——

Trilla dreams of the woman again. Flashes of white hair and pale skin… A voice sultry and worn,  _ ‘There are other emotions the Jedi taught you not to use. Do you deny them as well?’  _

She flinches awake at the vivid recollection of a kiss. 

One she’d never given.

“ _ Ugh… _ ” Trilla’s hand drags down her face as she sits up. The ship has slowed to a near idle. She looks sharply to her right to see the pirate at the co pilot controls. Had she been so exhausted that she hadn’t sensed him come in? “What do you think you’re doing?”

The Weequay waves a hand towards the viewport, “Taking us in, my fluffy headed friend! We’ve arrived!”

Trilla frowns and pats at her hair, trying to tame it. There is a large complex floating before them. Hondo takes a slow, descending approach, offering a view from above. Its construction reflects its origins. The middle spire is surrounded by eight protruding substations. The crest of a fallen era is cleverly built into the design. 

“Woah…” A tired voice comes from behind her. She glances back to see Kestis blinking sleep from his eyes. His hair is askew, almost comically. “Is that a Republic medical station?”

“It used to be! You see, when the Empire took over things, there were many military assets that were... ahh…  _ misplaced _ .” Hondo laughs, “A lot of ships got snatched up by pirates, like myself, but there were a few entrepreneurial spirits that aimed a bit  _ bigger _ .”

Trilla will admit that commandeering such a large floating facility was ambitious. Maybe  _ too _ ambitious. “How has it stayed out of the Empire’s notice?”

Hondo scratches the side of his head, pushing up his hat as he does so, “If I had to guess, I would imagine there is a fair amount of bribery involved.” 

She makes a note to find out who the commanding officer is of this stretch of space. Concealing an illegal operation of this size warranted a strict review. 

_ If you ever return to the Empire, that is. When exactly are you going to contact the Grand Inquisitor? Before or after the Jedi decides to escape your clutches? _

The comms light flickers. “Celanon Station to incoming vessel, please identify yourself.” 

Hondo responds before Trilla can stop him, “This is the uh…”

“The  _ Arcanis _ .” She offers dryly. 

“...yes, yes, this is the  _ Arcanis _ requesting hangar clearance.”

“We are scanning you now. Please cease your approach until we can clear you for landing.” 

The Jedi is leaning past her chair to get a better look out of the viewport. She notices that he’d taken the opportunity to clean up. He smells... good. He clears his throat, “So, what is this place used for now?” 

“It is a black market exchange primarily, but also a popular port for refugees.” Hondo leans back in his seat and drums his fingers against the console, “A lot of peoples looking to escape the eyes of the Empire come through here.”

Kestis gives Trilla a sidelong glance and she raises a thin brow at him. What did he think she was going to do? Go in there and stop every lowlife from subverting the Empire? Her main charge was the extermination of Jedi. 

_ And look at what a grand job you’re doing _ ...

“You may want to alter your appearance, my dear.” The pirate’s tone was the most serious she’d heard yet. “I doubt you will get far in your negotiations for repairs looking like  _ that _ . These people don’t much care for the Empire.”

She is suddenly acutely aware of her uniform. Even without the Imperial insignia, she was obviously dressed as one. “I have nothing else—“

Her words die as Kestis shimmies out of his poncho. His under shirt lifts as he does and she catches a glimpse of his toned stomach. She swallows. Once again, she finds herself wishing she’d taken full advantage of his willingness in that hot spring…

“Here.” Kestis holds the poncho out to her, a pensive expression on his face. 

Trilla stands to take it, the residual warmth of his body seeping into her chilled hands. “How quick you were to divest yourself of this for me...” She purrs just to see his cheeks flush predictably. 

“I’m going to want it back.” He crosses his arms and tucks his hands under them, apparently already cold without his thick overgarment. She notes that he has affixed a satchel to his hip. A brief brush in the Force tells her the holocron is secured within. 

When Trilla slips the poncho over her head, she realizes she’d missed the warmth and comfort of it from the time she’d worn it on that wretched planet. She smirks at him, “I don’t know… You might have to  _ fight _ me for it.”

She swears his eyes darken. They hold each other’s gazes for a beat - something straining to a near breaking point… 

“ _ Arcanis _ , you are cleared to disembark at hangar B-3.” 

“Copy that, Celanon Station. Thank you so very much.” The pirate turns to them and cackles at her appearance. “Finally got him out of his clothes, eh?”

Kestis makes an adorable choking sound. 

“Shut up and land.” She snaps. 

Hondo grins devilishly and does as she demands. The ship drifts towards one of the open hangar bays and before long, they are landing within it with a slight shake and a hiss of the hydraulic landing struts. 

Before they can disembark, they are stopped by the battle droid near the top of the gangway. It waves a data pad at them as it hobbles towards them. “Mistress, I finished the full diagnostic, as you requested!”

“It’s  _ Inquisitor  _ to you.” She scowls and takes the datapad from the gangly droid. A cursory glance shows that the hull needed reinforcement in some spots, but aside from that, the main issue seemed to be the motivator. “Stay with the ship - don’t let anyone on board.”

“Roger roger, Inquisitor!” It gives a sloppy salute, “Ehh, but I am not programmed for tactical situations…”

The irony is not lost on Kestis, who scoffs, “All those years fighting these tin cans and the one we end up with can’t even fend for itself.”

“Just… Do your best to be intimidating.” Trilla orders lamely. 

“Roger roger!” The droid stands at the top of the gangway, metal hands on it’s metal hips. 

It’s stance is nowhere near fear inducing.

Oh well. 

Stepping out into the station, Trilla is taken aback at it’s busyness. Dozens of life forms mill about the hangar complex and as she looks down toward the center spire, the crowd only thickens as it flows into the various hallways leading to different sections of the station. Kestis moves ahead of her several paces and Trilla tenses reflexively. “Kestis.” 

“What?” He turns towards her, “What is it?”

_ Stay close. Don’t leave my sight... _

She settles on “Don’t get lost.”, hoping the warning is clear.

He bestows her with a lopsided smile, “No promises.”

Hondo takes a deep breath, as if trying to taste the stale air around him, “Ahh, Celanon Station! Isn’t it just beautiful? The colorful peoples, the terrible food, the questionable wares for sale at exorbitant prices! A paradise!”

“It’s… definitely something.” The Jedi side steps a short statured group of snorting and squealing Ugnauts. 

Trilla crosses her arms and tips her chin up at the pirate, “This is where you leave us, Ohnaka.” 

His eyes narrow at her from behind his goggles, “I figured as much.” He looks to Kestis and sets a friendly hand on the Jedi’s shoulder, “May the Force be with you, my boy.”

Trilla rolls her eyes at that, but Kestis gives the pirate a genuine smile, “Thanks, Hondo. I hope you find your ship.”

“She’s out there somewhere!” The Weequay laughs, “I’ll reunite with her someday! And what a glorious day it will be—!”

“You will not speak of us to  _ anyone _ .” Trilla waves two fingers before his leathery face.

He blinks in confusion at her, “I— I will not speak of you two to anyone.” The pirate rubs wearily at his forehead before he staggers away into the mill of bodies. 

If she ever sees that Weequay again, it will be too soon. 

Trilla waits for the pirate to fade from sight before looking to Kestis. His eyes are scanning the throngs of beings and his body is unusually still. She’s hardly seen him so attentive. “Looking for someone?”

He blinks rapidly as he cants his head towards her, “Oh, uh… not really. I’m just…” His attention is caught again and he looks directly across from them - to the far side of the hangar. “Let’s go.”

“Go where exactly?” She is baffled by his skittish behavior. She senses nothing amiss. “What—?”

His hand closes around her wrist and he drags her directly into the densest group of bystanders. He pushes into them without regard and Trilla nearly trips right into a mouthful of Quarren tentacles. She splutters and wrenches her arm out of his grasp. Kestis whirls around only to get jostled into her. His hands bunch in the front of his poncho, low, near her waist. A Twi’lek jostles his shoulder roughly. A Chiss brushes past while giving them both a sour look. Red eyes flashing judgmentally. Kestis’s feet shuffle into hers. “Don’t look behind you.” He whispers harshly.

“ _ Why? _ ” She can feel the tension in him. It shivers through the Force. They are as near to each other as they’d been in the spring… His face so close to hers - that to any onlooker, they’d surely appear intimately acquainted. She can feel his shallow exhales on her lips. What would he do if she took his mouth once more? Here. Now. 

His brow furrows and his breath catches. 

Is he aware of the nature of her thoughts? Can he sense her errant desire? 

She hopes so. 

Trilla focuses her awareness, drawing in every stray and hushed voice around her.

A comm opens with a harsh crackle, “We’ve almost cleared Substation B, commander. No sign of them.”

Stormtroopers.

They sound close. Not a dozen paces behind her. Kestis grip on her tightens as he realizes that she knows. “ _ Trilla… _ ”

“You’re afraid.” She says in surprise, her voice getting lost to her own ears in the din around them, but clearly reaching him. 

His emerald depths are wide. Silently pleading. 

She wants to laugh. What was he so stressed about? A few stormtroopers was nothing…

“Show us some identification.” A trooper calls out a Rodian as he passes by her. He grunts as the trooper drags him to the side, “I said  _ show us your identification. _ ”

“This isn’t Imperial jurisdiction! I don’t have to do any—“ 

A blaster shot rings out so close that Trilla can smell the cooked flesh. She looks down to see the charred chest of the rebellious being. His eyes are wide and unfocused in his death. Trilla blinks down at the body. This is nothing she hasn’t seen a hundred times before. 

She shouldn’t have looked. 

Kestis abruptly releases her - and then he’s  _ gone _ . 

Disappeared.

As if he’d never stood before her.

Trilla takes a startled breath and stumbles forward in an effort to catch a glimpse of wherever the hell he’d gone, but a hand firm on her shoulder, clad in white plastoid, stops her. “Citizen, we’re going to need to see your identification as well.”

She turns, very slowly, to face down her own reflection in the dark visor of the stormtrooper. She hardly recognizes herself. The trooper motions impatiently at her to show her credentials. “Cooperate, and you won’t end up like him.” He gestures to the fresh corpse. 

Not so long ago, she’d been commanding men such as this. Inspiring fear in them with just a mere glance in their direction. How quickly that had changed...

_ Tell them who you are. Take back your authority. Hunt Kestis down. Turn this mess into something salvageable. It could be your last chance.  _

A child runs by, laughing, and side swipes the stormtrooper. She sees the soldier’s helmet turn abruptly towards the direction they had gone. “Hey, grab that ki—!”

_ No _ .

Her fingers curl at her sides. She reaches into the man, past his armor, beneath his skin, willing his body to be hers. His blood, his bones, his  _ heart _ . 

He drops like dead weight, a hand clenched over his chestplate. Trilla backs away as a nearby trooper notices his comrade fall to the deck in a heap - his armor clattering against the metal floor. “TK-2836! What’s wrong with you?”

“I— I don’t know, sir…  _ argh! _ ” She squeezes once more, for good measure, before slipping fully into the gathering crowd. She pulls the poncho’s hood over her face, and ducks in and out of the sea of beings flowing to and fro from the central hub. There are large pockets of similar species. A large family of Twi’leks, a herd of Ithorians, a gathering of Rodians… All filthy and worn and morose looking. 

Refugees. Just as the pirate had said. Hundreds of them. All waiting for a ship to take them somewhere better than where they’d come from.

Trilla knows that their chances of finding that better life are slim, at best. The Empire’s reach extended to every system in some shape or form. And if not controlled by the Empire, many of the remaining worlds were in the clutches of one crime syndicate or another…

Yet, it wasn’t as though these common people had fared much better under the Republic either.

As she gets closer to the center column of the station, obnoxious, repetitive music is heard above the chaotic cacophony of voices all around her. Signs flash distractingly. Trilla closes her eyes and forces herself to calm down. She hadn’t realized how out of control her breathing was. 

She’s hyper alert. The Force is a roiling ocean of emotions around her. Fear, being among the most prevalent. The whole place reeked of it. Not quite as acute as the terror that would constantly surround her on Nur, but close. 

Where in all of the galaxy had that insufferable little Jedi got off to?

Her mind wanders to a dark place. Could he be attempting to contact someone? Calling her former master for help…? The thought turns her stomach. 

She stretches out in the Force, searching futility amid the overwhelming amount of presences around her. All she needs is just the briefest hint of his bright warmth… just a flash of his fiery hair…

Another squad of troopers hurries past her and she has to remind herself to shield her face from them. She isn’t an Inquisitor. Not right now. 

_ What you are is a failure on all accounts _ . 

Her chest tightens at the thought.

“Substation D? And you’re sure I can find a motivator there?” 

_ The hell—? _

Trilla makes a sharp left and shoves her way back towards a collection of stalls, breaking through a gaggle of Gungans and nearly barreling right into Kestis. He looks over his shoulder at her just as she reaches him, “Trilla, don’t—!“

She takes him by the back of his leather vest and practically throws him into the nearest shadowy alcove. BD-1 beepS in alarm. A pair of Niktos already in the space quickly move aside, throwing curses their way. She pushes the Jedi against the rusting and graffitied wall, “What were you  _ thinking?” _

Kestis won’t meet her eyes, looking somewhere over her shoulder. She takes his jaw in her hand and  _ makes _ him look at her. His throat works in a swallow, “I was thinking that I didn’t know what  _ you _ were thinking.”

He grimaces as she roughly releases his face. “You’re an even greater fool than I thought if you imagined I would waste my time with those incompetent idiots.”

He looks confused.  _ Good. Let him be _ . 

“Well… you could have told them who you are.” He rubs at his jaw. 

“When the time comes, I will be delivering you  _ directly _ to my masters, not some random Outer Rim detachment.” It’s a thin excuse, but she thinks she put enough confidence behind it.

Or not. He looks unconvinced. “ _ Right _ .”

“Are you so impatient for the interrogation rack?” Trilla tries to regain her slipping control, stepping into his space and reaching out to run the backs of her gloved fingers down the side of his freshly shaven cheek. He doesn’t flinch. Her bluff has been called. 

So be it. 

Her hand moves down his jaw to the front of his vest. The heartbeat beneath it betrays him. “What are you doing?” She notes the way his throat works. He is nervous. “Trilla…”

“Where shall I start?” Her voice is a razor dipped in something sickly sweet, “Your mind or your  _ body? _ ”

He breathes in sharply through his nose and steps back, his heel hitting the wall. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

“Oh, but you  _ are _ .” Trilla feels the words drip off of her tongue like poison, “I’ve been so very,  _ very _ lenient towards you…” Her hand presses him more firmly into the wall. He lets her. As she expects he would. “You think I won’t hurt you? Have you so quickly forgotten?” She grazes a hand over his throat. Perhaps she should leave it as bruised as she had before. 

Kestis fidgets. She senses his doubt creeping in. “Stop.”

She crowds him, a mirror of their proximity earlier, “You aren’t in control here, padawan.”

“Maybe.” He murmurs, eyes flicking down to her lips, then back to her eyes, “But neither are you.” 

_ He’s right, you know _ . 

Her fingers curl against his front. “Don’t test me.”

The Jedi tips his chin up defiantly, looking at her as though he’s just received a tantalizing piece of information, “You can do what you want to me, but I know the truth.” 

Trilla humors him, “And what is this ‘truth’ you speak of?”

“You can’t go—“” 

“Hey! That’s the one!  _ Her!” _

Three stormtroopers hurry to block their exit. Trilla instinctively slips into a defensive stance. She brushes her fingers over the rounded guards of her saber hidden under the poncho. If she reveals herself here - there would be a trail of undeniable evidence…

A shift in the Force is the only warning she has before Kestis holds both hands out, freezing the men in place. He slips past their strangely shuddering forms, “Well?! Are you coming or not?!”

Trilla wishes he hadn’t done that. They were drawing too much attention to themselves. Now whatever Imperial presence was here would be looking for them  _ both _ . 

They weave their way through the station, trying to put as much distance between the patrol and themselves. The Jedi seems to have some idea of where he’s going. Occasionally he asks BD-1 for guidance, but ultimately they finally stop beside a large shop in a less populated substation. They catch each other’s eyes before going in. Kestis opens his mouth, then closes it. Trilla frowns, “Spit it out.” 

“It can wait.” He says gravely, “We need to focus on getting out of here.” 

She wasn’t going to argue with that. 

‘Jak’s Junk’ is scrawled in Aurebesh above the door to the shop. It didn’t inspire much hope for a hyperdrive motivator, but it wasn’t like they had many other options to explore. Kestis immediately begins wandering the wide room - which was likely one of the station’s main medical bays during its original operation. It’s once crisp white walls are blaster scored and a dingy grey. Trilla’s eyes fall on a human male reclining very comfortably in what appears to be a captain’s chair ripped from an expensive vessel. She stalks over to him, watching the way he shifts to widen his legs as she approaches. Her eyes narrow at that. He raises a brow as she looms over him. “Jak, I presume?”

His lips part in a disgusting smile, “That’s me. What can I do for a fine woman such as yourself?” The lecherous look on his face has Trilla wanting to relieve him of a particular body part. 

Kestis’s usually warm presence becomes colder somewhere behind her. Trilla fights the urge to look back at him. 

“I require a part for my ship.”

“Oho! And what exactly is it that you are looking for?” Jak brushes the crumbs of some past meal off of his shirt. They land on her boots. 

Trilla finds herself imagining all the ways she might murder this repulsive waste of space. “A hyperdrive motivator.”

“I might have one around here somewhere.”

“And what would the price be?” She drawls. 

Jak rubs at his mouth in consideration, “Hm, what are you willing to offer me?”

Trilla smiles thinly, “Your life.” 

He laughs at her and rests a hand on the blaster strapped to his thigh. “You’re a funny lady. I was thinking of something far more,” His eyes linger on her legs, “ _ intimate _ .”

Something snaps. 

It’s Jak’s neck. 

His head rolls back - a disturbing whine of air leaving his lips. 

“What—?” The Jedi sets down a part with a sharp clatter as he bemoans, “Was that necessary?”

“You wanted to kill him too. I could feel it.” Trilla smirks as he doesn’t deny it. She pulls the man’s blaster from his hip and shoves it in her belt. “Plus, it felt  _ fantastic _ .” 

“That explains a few things.” He sighs as he wades through the disorganized aisles. Without the worry of needing to deal with the shop owner, they take their time trying to locate what they need. “BD-1, scan the room.”

The little droid warbles an affirmative and casts its light across the parts in calculated increments. It beeps as it stops mid scan over a large pile of junk. Trilla moves smaller items to the side with the Force to reveal the very thing they sought. Kestis brushes the part off, coughing at the dust he displaces. “It looks usable.”

“It will have to do.” Trilla glances over her shoulder. A prospective patron is leaning into the shop. “Come on.”

Kestis cradles the motivator in his arms as the two slip as inconspicuously from the shop as possible. 

——

They are halfway back to the ship, taking an alternate route through a colorful market area to avoid running into another patrol, when the Jedi suddenly stops in his tracks beside a vendor. The female Pantoran’s tables are full of ruddy colored pottery and obscure artifacts. Kestis shifts the motivator to one arm and Trilla raises a brow as he reaches out to brush the blackened rim of a fragile looking dish. The slightest flutter of his eyelashes is the only tell that he’s using his psychometry. Trilla moves closer to him. There was no telling what his reaction might be. 

The seller has an alluring voice. One that she doesn’t much care for. Especially when directed towards Kestis. “All of these items are genuine Dathomirian - they would make a fine addition to any collection.”

“You stole these from a sacred temple.” 

Trilla is taken aback at his steely tone. What did that matter to him? The Pantoran sniffs haughtily, “I don’t see how a place could be sacred, if it’s people no longer exist.”

“You do know that the Nightsisters of Dathomir practiced dark magicks, right?” Kestis says, voice lowering dramatically. “Any of these,” He gestures at the ill gotten goods, “could be…  _ cursed _ .”

“Tch! I don’t believe in such things!”

Trilla’s eyes fall on a strange piece of veiny fabric laying aside a small pot. Just before she can touch it, she is accosted with a vivid scene playing across her mind, 

_ “These contain the bodies of my sisters,”  _ A woman says solemnly - the same woman from the previous visions. Her hand reaches to caress the smooth surface of a large teardrop shaped sack hanging from a scraggly tree.  _ “When one dies, so I was told, we perform a ritual to honor her.”  _ She gestures to skeletons scattered across orange dirt. Her voice wavers.  _ “But… I do not know the secret of preserving the fallen, and no one else was left to tend to them…” _

_ “Asajj…”  _ A deep and familiar voice speaks. Trilla feels it reverberate in her chest as if it is her own. It is filled with compassion. Soft skin is felt under Trilla’s fingertips _ , “I am so, so very sorry.” _

“Trilla!”

A hand squeezes her arm, directly over the still tender wound. Trilla hisses and jerks back, “Let me go!”

“Trilla, you…” Kestis steps to obscure the shocked Pantoran’s view of her as he loosens his hold on her, “ _ Look _ .” He whispers harshly. 

Nearly every piece of pottery had shattered. Nearby people were hushed and staring. “Me?” She takes a shaky breath. 

“Yeah. And you were saying things…” He looks back at the trembling vendor and raises his voice again, “See? I  _ told _ you!”

The Pantoran’s deep blue skin turns near ashen as she nods rapidly, “Oh… Oh  _ my… _ ”

Trilla allows the Jedi to lead her away from the mess she’s inadvertently created. Her mind is muddled. She can still sense things that aren’t her own - touch, smell, and even hear a time and a place that is definitely not Celanon Station. This was getting out of hand. “Damn it.” Her fingers bury themselves in her hair as she tries to center herself. 

Kestis says something to her, but she doesn’t quite catch it. Before she can question him, he guides her into a small room off of a quiet hallway. It is dark and abandoned. Empty crates emblazoned with Republic crests lay in disarray in the dim space. She feels a hand push her down to sit on the nearest box. The door seals shut. 

“Okay…” The Jedi perches on a crate across from her, his knees brushing hers. “Something is wrong.”

Trilla keeps her eyes on the door. The scene she’d caused could surely have alerted a security detail. Imperial or otherwise. “This is hardly the most ideal time to discuss this.”

He ignores her. “You were… muttering things about the Nightsisters.”

She stills, curling her fingers into the thick canvas of the poncho, “Was I?”

“Yeah. You know, I actually know a Nightsister.” He draws a foot up - arm resting on top of his knee.

Her chest tightens at his words, but they help bring her back to herself. “ _ Oh? _ ”

“I met her on Dathomir.”

“So  _ that’s _ where you kept disappearing too.” Trilla groans at the revelation. As she’d tracked Kestis around the galaxy, she’d felt she was missing something… She imagines the woman from her visions. How aesthetically pleasing she was. Were all Nightsisters so beautiful? Or were the reverberations of Vos’s emotions influencing her opinion? She couldn’t tell anymore. “No wonder you were such an idiot about those meaningless artifacts - this Nightsister of yours has made you concerned for her irrelevant culture, hasn’t she?

He stutters in protest, “She’s  _ not  _ my— It’s not irrelevant _... _ ”

Trilla scoffs, “Whatever you say.”

“Look, you might as well tell me what’s going on with you.” Kestis sighs, “You can’t tell me it’s nothing.”

Trilla stares down at the blood red palms of her gloves. A light panel flickers above. She closes her eyes. If she revealed to him what was afflicting her, would he use it to his advantage somehow? Could he? 

Would it matter? He was so tangled up in her already. He knew things no one else did. Things no one else ever would. The pain she’d endured - the loss. She knows he’d felt it for himself. What was one more weakness bared to him?

She relents. 

“When I encountered Vos in the caverns, he touched me.” Trilla rubs at the wrist he’d held with an iron grip. “He impressed memories on me.  _ His _ memories.”

“I didn’t realize that was possible…” Kestis sounds deeply troubled, “Why would he do that?”

Trilla is fairly certain as to the reason, but she can’t bring herself to voice it. “It doesn’t much matter, does it? He did it. And now I… I keep seeing this Nightsister he was involved with.”

“ _ Involved? _ ” Kestis flushes. His powers of deduction aren’t completely hopeless then. 

“Yes.”

“He did mention something about that…”

“It’s  _ disgusting _ .” 

Kestis has the audacity to snort at her, “Says the one who kissed me.” 

“And as I’ve said, it was a  _ mistake _ .” She stresses, hoping to knock him down a peg.

His smirk only widens, “Sure, Second Sister.”

Trilla’s jaw tightens, “You’re not going to be so cocky once you’re on your knees, begging for mercy.” 

The Jedi shrugs, “Depends on who I’m on my knees for.”

_ That _ catches her off guard. The implication is crystal clear. Trilla can’t stop herself from picturing it. Him knelt at her feet, at her whim - the image is more than alluring. Her blood quickens. “You have no idea what you’re insinuating.”

“Then educate me.” He counters, looking entirely too self satisfied with himself. 

He was growing far too bold.

She scowls at him and gets to her feet. She is towering over him now. A near mimicry of her imaginings a moment ago. He looks up to her from his place on the crate, that infuriating smile still on his lips. “Wipe that smirk off your face, Kestis.”

He grins wider.

——

They don’t encounter any stormtrooper patrols on their way back to the  _ Arcanis _ . 

This doesn’t sit right with Trilla. Something is definitely amiss, but she can’t seem to pinpoint the exact source of her rising dread. Kestis appears to feel similarly - he nearly steps on her heels in his hurry to get aboard the ship. Trilla shuts and locks down the hatch behind them. The battle droid is still standing dutifully where they’d left it _.  _ “Welcome back, Inquisitor!” 

Trilla wastes no time. “Can you install this motivator?” She gestures to the part Kestis is holding. 

“Absolutely!” The droid accepts the heavy piece - it’s joints straining audibly with the weight.

“Get to it then.” 

“Roger roger!” Kestis’s droid scampers off with the battle droid, “Oh! Of course your assistance is welcome, BD-1.”

Trilla heads for the cockpit. The Force feels cold and thin. They needed to get out of here. Now. She powers up the engines. Her anxiety is nominally curbed as they whine to life. At least one thing was going right. “Celanon Station, we request the authorization to depart.” Trilla phrases it like a demand.

There is a long and worrying stretch of silence over the comm. 

“I don’t like this.” Kestis murmurs as he sinks into the copilot seat.

“Celanon Station?”

No response. 

Trilla isn’t going to wait around forever for permission. 

“Hold on.” With a deft motion, she activates the reverse thrusters and sends the ship careening backwards out of the hangar bay. Kestis is making noises of protest, but she doesn’t slow down. The landing struts shake violently with the drag and she’s pretty sure she’s hit something. Or  _ someone _ . Alarm lights flash accusingly at them from within the hangar as they clear it. She’s undoubtedly just broken at least a dozen standard flight protocols.

“ _ Arcanis _ , this is Lieutenant Commander Titus of the Imperial Navy.” A new voice with a distinct accent comes chastising through the comm, “You are under suspicion for terrorist activities. Shut down immediately and stand by for boarding.”

“Lieutenant Commander, you do realize you are interfering in the affairs of an Inquis—“

The Jedi has his saber drawn on her before she can finish. His sword hums against the side of her neck. Trilla sighs and takes her hand off the comm. Did he have to be such an idiot? Right now? “Kestis, I’m not—“

“Be  _ quiet _ .” He presses the ship’s intercom, “Rod, how long until the motivator is installed?”

Trilla wrinkles her nose at the smell of her singed hair. She tries leaning away from the saber, but it follows her every move. 

“It is nearly finished! Though, It is recommended to let the hyperdrive cycle for several hours before attempting lightspeed—“

“We don’t have time for that!” Kestis stares hard at Trilla as she peels off her gloves. She responds with an unimpressed look. “Can we make a jump  _ now? _ ”

“Well, yes, but it isn’t advised—“ Kestis cuts the comm to shakily enter a set of coordinates into the nav computer. Trilla watches him struggle to program it. 

“Get us clear of the station.” He snaps at her.

Maybe it was better that he was taking the upper hand. This way she didn’t need to outright defy the Empire. If he did it for her, it took the decision out of her hands. 

Not that it made much of a difference. As long as she was at his side, her fate was intertwined with his.

She acquiesces and turns the ship to face the darkness of space, but just as they reach a safe enough distance from the station, an alarm screams at them from the console.

Kestis makes a frustrated noise, “ _ Great _ . What does that mean?” 

“Nothing good.” Trilla replies grimly.

An Imperial light cruiser blinks into existence from out of hyperspace. Trilla’s veins freeze at the sight. Kestis curses rather eloquently for a scrap rat.

A red light pulses on the comm. She gestures at it, “They are hailing us. Open the connection.”

Kestis looks at her as though she is insane, “Uh, not a chance.”

“It’s protocol to neutralize an uncooperative vessel after repeated failures to respond.” Was he really so clueless? “Do you wish to be atomized?”

“But—!”

“ _Cal_.” This name is foreign on her tongue. His head snaps up to her. The soft hum of his lightsaber and the incessant tone of the unanswered comm underscore the moment. Trilla holds his gaze, “Trust me.”

_ As if you’ve given him any reason at all to do so _ . 

“Why should I?” He breathes, guarded. 

“Because,” She closes her eyes, willing him to understand all she can’t bring herself to say. “You said you knew the truth...”

Something shifts between them. It’s barely perceptible, but she sees it in the way his eyes soften and how his body relaxes. His blade deactivates. “Alright.”

She gives a stiff nod and wastes no time answering the comm. “This is the  _ Arcanis _ .”

A smooth, sultry voice fills the cockpit, “Oh, hello there, Sister.”

Darkness swallows the edges of Trilla’s vision. Her voice drops reflexively into a cool timbre. The tone she saves for this particular individual and all the others like her. “ _ Seventh _ .”

“We’ve been looking  _ everywhere _ for you.” The voice oozes fake concern. “Where have you been?”

“That’s none of your concern.” 

“Ah, but it is.” The other Inquisitor’s tone hardens, “You went dark without warning, only to resurface here? Galavanting about with your prey? Things aren’t looking good for you, Second.”

“And so? I’ve never much cared for  _ your _ opinion.” Trilla shoots back.

A laugh. “But what of the Grand Inquisitor’s? He will soon receive a full report from the stormtroopers you accosted. I’m sure there is some  _ fascinating _ security footage as well... I wonder what he will think?”

Trilla tenses. She can almost  _ feel _ the Grand Inquisitor’s mind probing hers from across the stars. “Are you questioning my loyalty?”

“We’re well beyond merely  _ questioning _ it.” Seventh cackles. “To be completely honest, Sister, I’ve been tasked with bringing you in. Alive, dead, I get to choose...” She pauses, before continuing low, “As for the Jedi—“

“The Jedi is  _ mine _ .”

Kestis reacts visibly out of the corner of her eye. She feels a wave of conflicting emotions roll off of him. It would have been amusing to her if she wasn’t consumed with rage. 

“Well, well… Maybe I’ll let you live then. Just long enough to see him  _ suffer _ . Our master prefers the padawan still breathing, but perhaps I’ll take a few of his limbs just to watch you squirm.”

Oh, how Trilla wishes she could crush the Mirialan’s throat in her hands and watch the life drain from her eyes. The darkness in her swells with that desire. “Touch him and it will be the last thing you do.”

“You think you can protect him?” Seventh’s modulated voice lowers into a near whisper, “You should be more worried about  _ yourself _ .”

Trilla cuts the connection abruptly. Dread clashes with the anger churning within her. For all her bravado, she would never doubt the cruelty of the Empire. It was woven painfully into the fabric of her being. It was etched into her psyche. Countless hours of agony. Innumerable days of pain. She’d screamed until her throat bled, cried until she couldn’t breathe, begged until all she could utter was a repeated  _ ‘no’  _ over and over and over…

She vowed long ago never to live that waking nightmare again. No matter what. Even at the cost of her life. She’d easily pay the price of oblivion to stay out of an Imperial torture chamber. 

“We have to make the jump, Trilla.” Kestis’s voice is near frantic. “They’re going to scramble their fighters.”

Her fingers tremble over the hyperdrive lever. What was she hesitating for? The choice couldn’t be more clear now. 

Her breathing is fast and harsh to her ears. 

Kestis lays a bare hand over hers on the lever. Trilla looks up at him and sees her fears mirrored in uncertain eyes. And yet, his touch is a silent promise, a comfort, a declaration of solidarity that she knows she doesn’t deserve… He manages a solemn smile for her even as a squadron of TIEs begins to pour from the cruiser. 

_ There is no turning back now.  _

It doesn’t matter. 

Truthfully, her decision had been made long before this moment. 

It was only now that she could admit it to herself. 

Trilla activates the hyperdrive, and together, they watch the galaxy melt into streaks of white and blue light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did a LOT of research for this chapter. mostly for myself, because i love dropping little canon/legends connections. like these things:
> 
> celanon station gets its name from the nearby hyperlane, the celanon spur. 
> 
> there was indeed a republic medical station near ord cestus during the clone wars.
> 
> lieutenant commander titus is meant to be admiral titus from star wars: rebels.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another long chapter awaits you! hope you enjoy it!

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

The Seventh Sister sighs. 

So, they had escaped. 

It is no real worry. The traitor and her Jedi are running scared now, and fearful prey is prone to making deadly mistakes...

She only hopes the Grand Inquisitor will see it that way. 

“Recall all fighters.”

The Seventh Sister’s eyes narrow behind her mask. She speaks primly, “Captain, did I indicate that you should give that order?”

The man is visibly puzzled. She very much enjoys his spluttering, “Ah, no, Inquisitor. I only assumed—“

“You assumed _wrong_ .” She clasps her hand behind her back as she turns to look back out the viewport at the repurposed medical station. It is an eyesore. “Remove all Imperial forces from that junk heap and then give a quarter hour evacuation notice for it’s low-lifes.” Concern immediately ripples off of the officer. _Interesting_. “Have your ears stopped working, captain?”

He straightens to attention, “It will be as you wish, but… for what reason are we evacuating?”

“How you rose to this position, I do not know…” The Seventh Sister explains, “Once our forces are pulled back, and we’ve given the scum of this station a chance to panic and try to escape, we will have our fighters pick off every single ship that attempts to run.” 

The captain’s shock is so comical, Seventh can’t help but to laugh.

“O-Of course.” He glances out the wide viewport, “And what of the complex itself?”

“You will destroy it.” She says simply, as though it is nothing. Because, to her, it is. “Such a place can not be allowed to remain. In fact, I am surprised it escaped your notice for so long, captain. Isn’t this your sector to patrol?”

His already pallid face pales even more, “Well, yes, but I assure you—“

“Assurances mean _nothing_.” One of her seeker droids emerges from behind her to float menacingly around the officer. “You have been under suspicion for fraud and racketeering for some time now, captain. Perhaps, if you obliterate this station, the source of your ill gotten wealth, there will be leniency granted to you in the internal review from high command.” 

It is clear he knows he is backed into a corner. To the Seventh Sister it makes no difference if he obeys her orders or not. He is finished. Doomed. This is just for her own amusement. 

After the last of the Imperial presence is removed, the TIEs promptly begin picking off the transports frantically trying to leave the station. The Inquisitor can’t help but grin wide behind her mask. They really thought the Empire would give them a chance to escape? Fools. All of them. 

And then, at the reluctant captain’s command, the view port is filled with blinding flashes of light. The forward lasers strike their target with ruthless precision. The ship trembles with the shock of the station being summarily fractured into billions of pieces. All that remains is a cold debris field… no trace of what could have been in its place. 

A shockwave of death is felt in the Force. It is _delicious_. 

“Well done.” She purrs as she turns to look upon the captain’s shaken countenance. “But… I don’t think it’s quite a high enough price for your treachery.”

He has no time to react before her saber is carving through his flesh. 

Soon, it will be the Second Sister at the end of her blade. 

She can hardly wait. 

=*=

The _Arcanis_ is silent but for the steady hum of the hyperdrive. 

Cal doesn’t know what to say, and from Trilla’s stiff posture and the downturned set of her mouth, he doesn’t think she knows either. 

He draws his hand back from atop hers. The radiant heat from her skin still clings to his palm. She too, pulls her hand to herself. They avoid each other’s eyes. 

He replays the last minutes, no - _days_ in his head - picking apart exactly what had happened to lead to this moment. 

“Why did you do it?”

Her brow dips a fraction, but she still doesn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on the flashing readouts in front of her. “You ask the most inane questions.” 

Cal presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Why was she still so evasive? It dawns on him that he is not asking the right question. “When did you decide?”

Trilla looks away. It’s obvious she is uncomfortable with the query, so maybe he’s on the right track. “I don’t know.” She says low, dismissive. 

“No.” Her noncommittal response frustrates him, “You _knew_ you couldn’t go back to the Inquisitorius. You’ve known for a while now haven’t you—?”

Trilla swivels her chair, hands braced on the armrests as she leans towards him with a scowl. Her hair is a mess of waves and curls about her face - a soft contrast to her ire, “Listen to me well, Cal Kestis. I didn’t do this for you. I did it for _myself_.”

“What do you mean?” He watches her stand to leave and he goes to follow her, “Hey! You can’t just run away from me! From _this!_ ”

She ignores him and continues down the corridor. A cloud of conflicted emotions is easily felt around her. 

Cal clenches his fists at his side and keeps pace with her, trying to get her to look at him, “What you said about me to that Inquisitor—“

Trilla stops abruptly, towering those few inches over him in the narrow passageway, “What about it?”

He flushes. When she claimed him and defended him before the Seventh Sister, he had been taken aback at the conviction in her voice. He’d sensed no deception. As much as he wanted to tell her that he could take care of himself, as he had told her once before, he couldn’t deny the way her impassioned words had made him feel. “You meant it.”

Her eyes narrow into thin windows of forest green, “And so?”

“ _So?_ ” He counters, shifting to block her way. 

She’s angry. He feels her simmering behind the thin smile she gives him, “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Cal tries to remain level headed, “Look, we’re in this together now. I want to know where we stand.”

He notices her fingers flexing at her side - a slight tremble to them. “Kestis, if you don’t move aside, I will _make_ you.”

It’s clear he isn’t going to get any real answers from her. Not right now at least. And yet… he stays rooted in one place. “Then _make_ me.”

The air is electric. A hum of wills. His heart beats faster with anticipation. Of what? He can’t be sure. When it comes to her, he can never be certain. Maybe he likes that. 

She seems to barely breathe. So still. So quiet. A predator through and through. Cal is reminded of how she crept up on him in the vault on Bogano. He hadn’t noticed her until she wanted him to. 

When she moves, it’s not lightning fast the way he expects. She floats into his personal space, chin dipping slightly to keep eye contact. “You want to know where we stand?”

He swallows. “Yes.”

The heady, all-encompassing pressure of her presence is so acute he swears he can _feel_ her skin against his own. It’s unpleasant and not at the same time. Cal can’t say he’s experienced such a level of connection before. He fails to realize the gravity of such sensations in time. 

She laughs.

He blinks, disoriented. When had he closed his eyes? She’s behind him now. Cal whirls to see her standing relaxed, a hand on her hip. “What did you…?”

“You really should be more on guard.” She gestures at her temple with a smirk, “Your mental shields are abysmal.” 

Immediately, he panics, wondering what she could have learned from being within his mind, “Don’t do that again.”

Her amusement only grows, “I’ll do what I please. You should mark yourself fortunate that I didn’t meddle further.” With that, she disappears down the passage, her bootfalls clipped against the durasteel decking. 

Cal lingers in place, reaching out to the wall for support. It’s off putting. Disturbing in a way that he can’t put words to. To not be able to trust your own mind… to not even realize _when_ your thoughts are being manipulated. How had she managed it? 

He remembers the phantom touch of her fingers at his forehead - taking his pain. The pressing slip of her against his conscience at the lake - showing him how to take life. 

For her, he’d left himself open. 

_As if you wanted her to come in_. 

Cal wipes a hand over his mouth, exhaling sharply against his fingers. 

He needs to center himself. 

=+=

 _‘You should worry about yourself.’_

Blood is loud in her ears. She can taste it in her mouth. Her lip stings where her teeth had pierced it. It’s crimson is bright in the harsh fresher lighting. This is the first she’s truly seen of herself in over a week. 

She is compelled to strike out at what she beholds. She wants to fracture her visage to reflect all the flaws and imperfections that are so blatantly obvious to her. The soft edge to her mouth, the gentle fall of her hair, the bare skin about her eyes - clear of the dark kohl and sleep deprived bruising she’d worn like a badge. 

The unassuming blue and yellow of his poncho is foreign to her - having worn black consistently for years. She hardly knows the woman glaring back at her. 

Even though she knows it’s locked, she checks the door again. Not that it would keep him out if he really wanted in, but it is a force of habit. Trilla lifts the poncho over her head and relaxes at the sight of her uniform underneath. It shouldn’t bring her any comfort, especially after being denounced by the very organization it belonged to, but it was grounding in a way. To see it and remember who she was. 

_Was_. 

Her hands ball at her sides, nails digging into her palms hard enough that she’s sure she’s drawing blood. The pain doesn’t bring any sort of clarity. Not like it used to. 

Who the hell was she now? 

As she removes the jacket, her fingers catch the raised line of thread on the sleeve where Kestis had sewn it for her. She holds the garment loose in her hands, thumb brushing over the irregularity. Flickers of their time in the caverns play across her mind. The soft echo of dripping water, the subtle, sulphuric scent of the spring, the glow of the flora casting muted shadows… The sweat gathered on his brow in the throes of his fever, the youthful innocence of his sleeping face after she eased his discomfort…

The way the water glistened across the definition of his bare skin. His fiery hair falling wet and dark over his face, his fingers dipping between his lips to lick the grease of cooked fish from them… what if they had been _her_ fingers in his mouth? What if his tongue laved over _her_ skin. 

She shivers, but the frigid air is not to blame. This feeling is anxiety without the sickness. Fear, without the cold. Agony, without the pain. It’s the bright burn of the moment she decided to kiss Cal Kestis. 

A glance up has her meeting her own gaze in the mirror again. _Weak_. She winces as she peels her hand from the sink and looks down to see red smeared over the edge. Her palm bleeds from the small crescent shaped marks she’s made with her nails earlier. 

She washes the blood off her hands. 

_You’re out of control._

The water continues to run, numbing her hands as she stares into her reflection. She doesn’t want to dwell on the truth. The reality of her desire. The glaringly obvious reason she is so off balance. 

Now, after she’d just defied the most terrible power in the galaxy for this boy, what excuse did she have to repudiate how she felt in regards to him? There was no way to deny he influenced her decision to run. Sure, she was pushed by circumstance as well, but ever since he’d shown her the smallest bit of sympathy, Trilla had warred with herself over his fate. And hers.

This attraction ran deeper than the physical, but she couldn’t think about that. It was easier to simply lust than to yearn for something intangible. Sharing her body, in her mind, was infinitely safer than opening her heart. 

But what did any of this matter anyway? They could never be. Not really. It was only a matter of time before the Empire found them. Would it not be better if she kept him at arm's length? 

_Embrace him or reject him... It will hurt the same in the end. You care for him too much already_. 

She thinks back to her teachings as a Jedi. To the warnings she’d been given many a time about controlling her emotions. Over and over, it had been reaffirmed. _There is no passion. Only serenity_ . A Jedi does not form attachments. A Jedi does not let emotion cloud their judgement… How could she have been happier back then? Always paranoid that she was thinking or feeling the wrong things? Every crisis of self was met with a _‘meditate on what troubles you’_ from her master. It never helped. A cleared mind always seemed to invite more doubt. 

Maybe that’s why, when pushed to her breaking point on the torture rack, she’d so readily embraced the darkness. It had been relieving in a twisted sort of way to let all of her pent up rage, sorrow, and fear consume her. It was liberating to allow those emotions to dominate her and sharpen her to a dangerous point… Even now, she maintains the simmering hatred for her traitorous master. It brings her satisfaction to know she’d stolen that worthless woman’s new apprentice from her. She shouldn’t be allowed to influence anyone else. Not after what she’d done. 

_And what about you? What about what you’ve done?_

What about it? At least she wasn’t pretending to be someone she wasn’t. She was honest in her cruelty. Open in her hatred and pain. From what she’d gathered, Cere was none of those things, even when she really should be. 

The bones of her fingers ache from the cold water. The pain is familiar. She’s reminded of her near death experience in the lake. The second one. Of how she’d been taken into the depths by that creature… and how she still can’t recall those missing days. If she falls deep into her mind, she can find that humming glow of the connection she’d forged with the beast. She won’t go near it, lest she reawaken it. The words it’d spoken to her still reverberate within her, mysterious and foreboding. 

With a sigh, Trilla finally sets out to accomplish what she’d come to the fresher for in the first place. She removes the rest of her clothes and methodically cleanses herself of a week’s worth of grime clinging to her body. With each pass of the soaked rag, the freezing water bites at her skin. She welcomes the discomfort. After she redresses, her hair is tamed and coaxed into a messy tail. She takes a steadying breath as she reevaluates her reflection. 

She doesn’t know this woman, but maybe… maybe she wants to. 

——

As she steps out of the fresher, Trilla is surprised to see BD-1 just outside the door. As if it had been waiting for her. “Boop doo?” It inquires. 

“Of course I am.” It was sounding like Kestis, asking her if she was okay. “Where is your master?”

The droid whirrs and beeps and sets off down the corridor - encouraging her to follow it. Trilla hesitates a beat, wondering if she’s ready to face the Jedi yet. He’d surely be wanting to cross examine her as he’d attempted to before. 

Let him try. 

He is in the galley. Shuffling around cookware and closing and opening cabinets. Music is playing. Trilla stops short of the doorway. The bass filled beat underlies the low tone of Kestis humming along. It’s odd. This is what she might picture normality being like. It unnerves her. This was not the tense coexistence of the Inquisitorius gathered together in the mess hall. This was not the militaristic routine of wartime meals. This was not the communal, yet ever distant, sit downs between Jedi under pretentious vaulted ceilings. 

He’s in the middle of stirring some food over the cooktop when she rounds the corner to lean against the doorframe. BD-1 is on the counter, beeping happily. When Kestis’s head whips around to look at her, she can only assume the droid had been talking about her. His pause is almost comical as he takes in the sight of her. Trilla waits for him to remember himself. The utensil in his hand lowers to the counter as he turns more fully to her. “Hey, uh... Are you hungry?”

It smells good, whatever he’s making. Her stomach growls on cue. Trilla drags her tongue between her teeth and shrugs, “Perhaps.”

“Well, that’s good.” He smirks, “I just happened to make enough for us both.” 

Trilla doesn’t return the smile. Everything about this is wrong to her. She feels out of her element. More so than she had on Onveon. This was all so grossly ordinary. His relaxed stance as he tends the food, the subtle music playing in the background, the two bowls already laid out for them. She recognizes the tension in her muscles as a result of her nervousness. It makes her angry. Why should she be anxious about this? It was nothing but a harmless meal. They’d shared several together already. 

This was different. 

“What—?” She immediately clears her throat, hating how soft her voice is to her ears, “What is it?”

“Just whatever was still good in the conservator. Some vegetables. A bit of meat.” He pushes his unruly hair back and looks sheepish, “I’m not much of a cook.”

She approaches him and his eyes follow her warily. Good. At least he still saw her as a threat. “It looks... _edible_.” She offers. 

“Oh, thanks.” He mutters, but she doesn’t sense any real annoyance. He halves the food and scoops her portion into a bowl, presenting it and a fork to her, “If it's bad, I did warn you.”

She accepts it, her mind blanking for a moment as his fingers brush hers. A flash of emotion, something strained and wanting, is perceived from the brief contact. She blinks down at the steaming bowl. The first bite is almost too hot, but she isn’t afraid to be burned. Her lip stings. It’s not terrible. A bit bland, but nourishing nonetheless. He is practically vibrating with anticipation, but she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of her approval. Trilla simply continues eating. 

After taking a few bites of his own, he frowns, “You don’t like it, do you?”

He is such a child. So eager. So wanting of attention. Trilla points down at her nearly empty bowl emphatically with her fork, “It's atrocious.”

Kestis flushes as he seems to realize her point, “Oh.”

They finish eating in silence - well, near silence. Kestis is still twitching a foot along with the music as he scrapes the sides of his bowl. It’s such a contrast to the version of him she is accustomed to. At ease, seemingly content, just being… himself. 

It triggers an ache in her. A heavy weight in her chest. She realizes she wants that too. She wants to feel as free as he appears. In the cavern, in the hot spring, she had come close, but her attempts had been less carefree and more _careless_. 

She’s staring at his mouth. Passing her tongue over her own lips, she imagines their’s pressed together once again...

Wholly unaware of the nature of her thoughts, he breaks the quiet, setting his dishes on the counter beside hers. “You haven’t asked where we’re going yet.”

She hadn’t much cared in the moment, but she supposes she should now. “Well? Go on then. Don’t keep a lady waiting.”

He smiles almost shyly at that and slips into the table booth to set a datapad in the middle. A few taps on the screen and a holographic nav chart is projected above. “So, I don’t remember many coordinates by heart… but I do know _one_ set.”

Trilla feels her chest constrict as he selects the relevant world. Bracca. She schools her features, “Why?”

He shrugs grimly and leans back, “I spent a long time trying to figure out how to leave that place - I gave up after a few years, but I would spend hours pouring over salvaged star charts, plotting my way off.”

“Where would you have gone?” She sits across from him and brushes two fingers through the hologram, watching the light shiver with the disruption. 

“In the beginning, I wanted to go ho— back to the Temple.” He closes his eyes, “I didn’t understand what had happened… At first, I thought maybe it wasn’t as bad as I was hearing. That maybe someone would remember me and come find me. When that didn’t happen, I tried to find a way back...”

“If you had returned, you would have found nothing but a hollowed out tomb.” Trilla swallows hard and she is back there again. Being dragged through the ash and the corpses left to rot away in the ultimate display of disrespect… She is being made to stand guard in the burned gardens - her favorite place to retreat to as a padawan. It had been a test of her resolve. Her first mission as an Inquisitor. “And you would have been killed.”

“I realized that after they showed a public execution on the holonet. A Jedi that had been hiding on Onderon. They brought him back to the steps of the Temple…” He drags a hand over his face, visibly affected by the memory, “I stopped hoping after that.”

Her palms itch. Maybe it’s from the freshly inflicted wounds, or maybe it’s the blood of many eating away at her. More than a few Jedi had perished on her Inquisitor’s blade… Though none of them had affected her like the one before her. Maybe that was wrong of her, but it was the truth. Sure, she felt the nausea of guilt in each fateful moment she took a Jedi life, wondering briefly if she’d known them in her old life, but there was a disconnect that always soon followed. She told herself she was only a tool. Nothing more. That the Jedi would have perished eventually. By her hand or another’s. “It is better you remained on Bracca. The Empire always assumed you perished there. I had to revise your file myself once you were discovered.”

There’s a subtle shift in the energy between them. “You mentioned on Zeffo that you knew who I was...”

Their encounter in the excavated ruins is a slow moving holo across her mind. She remembers his shock when he looked on her bare face for the first time. It had been so very satisfying to see. And yet, she’d been surprised in return when he’d known who she was. It had signaled that Cere had dared to speak of her to him. Still, if she hadn’t told Cal of her, Trilla would not have been able to hear him say her name…

“The Empire confiscated the Temple records.” She explains, trying her damndest to keep her tone even, “I only had to do a little digging to discover who you were.”

He’s quiet, eyes focused on the hologram of Bracca between them. She wonders what he could be thinking. She’s noticed that his emotions are far more closed off than before. Perhaps he’d taken her advice and shored up his defenses. 

When she’d dipped into his mind earlier, she’d _seen_ nothing, but _felt_ a great deal. He was frustrated with her. Confused. And, underneath it all, she felt what she’d known would be there. A current of desire. The same one running through her. 

“I don’t even know what is in those records.” He props his chin in his hand, “Anything interesting I should know about myself?”

She shrugs. “Nothing shocking. Evaluations and the like. An enlightening section about your psychometry…” It wasn’t a lie, per se, but there was more than she let on. His file had been riddled with evidence of inconsistent instruction and traumatic psychometric related incidents. It was obvious that in wartime, his needs were pushed to the side. He’d been fairly young to be deployed out on the war front. Sending him to train with Jaro Tapal had quite plainly been a desperate attempt from the Council. “You struggled in meditation the most.”

“That didn’t change much, then.” He scoffs, before his mouth tips down in a thoughtful frown, “What about you?”

She is immediately on guard. “What about me?”

“What did you have the most trouble with learning?” He is trying to be nonchalant, but she can see the tension in his shoulders. 

“Are you trying to divine my weaknesses?” Trilla narrows her eyes. 

“I already know your weaknesses.” He says matter of factly. 

Trilla laughs dryly, “Oh really?”

He nods, “For one, you’re overconfident.”

“And you aren’t?” She shoots back, though internally she is taking account of his words. 

Kestis smirks, “Maybe… But come on, Trilla. You can’t tell me you were a perfect study.”

“I was.” She laces her fingers together on the table top. Before the Purge and the fall of the Republic, she’d been so very close to being knighted. It had been her sole motivation in those last days. A way to distract herself from the chaos around her. She so badly wanted to succeed where her peers failed. At the time, those that had left or turned their backs on the Order had seemed worse than the Separatists, but now, looking back, she envied their courage. 

Then again, they were dead, and she was alive. So how far had their bravery really gotten them?

He laughs and nods, “Of course you were.”

A small quiet falls over them. Trilla keeps her eyes on the flickering representation of Bracca before her. They could refuel there. Plot their next move. Whatever that was going to be. 

It was becoming clear to her that the Jedi had his own agenda. From how quickly he’d run from her on Celanon Station and how he’d held a lightsaber so easily to her throat as they attempted to leave. And now, with him being more free than he’d been two days ago, she has to wonder what his plans are. Her only guess is that he wishes to rejoin her master and continue his original mission. 

They wanted to rebuild the Jedi Order? What foolishness. What utter nonsense. It was just like her master to be so idealistic. Trilla had expressed her distrust of Cere’s intentions for Kestis on Zeffo… she wonders if he heeded her at all. He’d sounded genuinely hurt when he tried to contact Cere over comm - she almost wishes she hadn’t hacked in just then. What would Cere have said of her fallen apprentice? Probably more lies. She was good at those. 

“Trilla.” Pulled from her thoughts, she meets his eyes. They communicate uncertainty. “Are you alright?”

Every time he asks her this, she feels a stab of emotion that can’t be defined. A flash of anger that he thought anything was wrong, guilt that he would even ask - didn’t he remember all she’d done to him? - and a flush of warmth from the implication that he cared. Who was the last person to show any genuine concern for her? 

_The same person who shattered your trust._

“Have I given any sign that I’m not?”

He is chewing at his cheek, the action makes his lips twist in a way that has her heart picking up pace. With a soft chiming sound, the holo blinks off. The datapad is pushed to the side. She fights the urge to flinch as his hand slides towards her, to the middle of the table, palm up. Offering it, as he had that night in the cave… “You chose to walk away. That couldn’t have been easy.”

She doesn’t know what he wants from her. It wasn’t like she deserved any accolades for being forced to run from the Empire. Would she have left if the course of events didn’t play out the way they had? She can’t say. “As I said, I did it for myself.”

“Well then,” The look he is giving her has Trilla feeling bare. Seen. _Known_. “I’m glad you did.”

She almost takes his hand. _Almost_. And yet, she just can’t bring herself to. There is something final about the idea of it. A joining of sorts not unlike their kiss. An understanding of unity. Of friendship. 

They were not friends. 

“I don’t need your approbation.” Her voice lowers darkly, “It doesn’t matter that I can’t call myself an Inquisitor anymore. I am _nothing_ like you, Jedi. And you’ll see that one day.“

“I’ve seen you be more than what they made you, Trilla. You don’t have to cling to the hatred—“

A laugh, sharp and loud, leaves her, “When Cere Junda is dead at my feet, you’ll forget all about my moments of weakness.” 

His fingers curl into a fist between them and he draws his hand back. A shadow falls over his countenance. “I won’t let that happen.”

It stings to hear him so readily defend the woman who had betrayed her so completely. Though she’d brought this on herself when she threatened her, it still hurt to hear. 

There was a moment she’d missed here. A chance at something she desperately wanted. She’d thrown it away without thought. And now it was too late to reclaim. He is rising from his seat and walking away… Trilla doesn’t watch him go. There is a sour feeling in her gut. 

She tells herself that this is right. Holding him at bay and crushing his attempts at connecting with her - it is necessary. When the Empire finally caught up to them, they would be glad not to be so attached….

 _You can’t keep lying to yourself_. 

Trilla takes the datapad and pulls up their destination again. Bracca. A soaking wet scrap heap. A dark, unforgiving landscape of metal and oil and mud. She’d been displeased to go there the first time around - even with the prospect of finding a Jedi amongst the broken and twisted carcasses of the past war. Yet, at the thought of returning, she is mostly anxious.

How would he react? It was on Bracca that she had first found him. Where she had murdered a friend in front of him. And just now she’s gone and threatened another… 

It didn’t matter. It was fine if he stayed upset with her… it would be all the better in the end. 

Wouldn’t it?

=+=

The battle droid makes a startled noise when Cal enters the engine room, “Oh! Hello! Can I be of assistance?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. BD-1 nudges the back of his head to get his attention, “What?” He looks up to see the battle droid looking at him with a cocked head, “Ah, no… Thanks Rod, but I don’t think you can help me.”

“I am programmed to assess and repair most standard tech and ten classes of vessels. From single seat terra bikes to dreadnoughts - I’m your droid.”

BD-1 whistles low, impressed. Cal smiles apologetically, “If I need that kind of help, I’ll be sure to ask, but this is not an engineering issue.”

There is a pregnant pause before Rod speaks again, “If you do not need my assistance, why are you in the engine compartment?”

A heavy sigh leaves his nose, “I just… I needed some space to think.”

“Your organic processing unit is experiencing interference?” Rod picks up a hydro spanner and places it in a tool cart. 

He laughs quietly, “Yeah… sort of.”

“Organics are prone to this type of malfunction?”

BD-1 pipes up with an answer, “Beep bee doop!”

Cal’s mouth falls open in shock as he cranes his neck to look back at the little droid, “BD! I-I’m not _corrupted!”_

“Doo oop bee dwoo!” It scrambles off his shoulder and hops around Rod’s legs. 

The battle droid nods mechanically, “Yes, I agree, meat bags are highly unpredictable.” 

With a groan, Cal plops down on a nearby crate, “You two are ruthless.” He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back and letting it fall haphazardly over his face as he leans heavily on his knees. Maybe he shouldn’t have left so abruptly. It was just… she was so… so _frustrating_ …

As per usual, she’d let him in just enough to make him think they were coming to an understanding and then proved him wrong in one fell swoop. He was getting tired of the uncertainty. Why was he even trying anymore? He knows why, and it makes him all the more irritated. 

When she’d come to the galley, he’d been ready to begin demanding answers from her again, but her appearance had wiped all questions from his mind. Her hair was pulled back, and it flowed down, dark and wavy behind her head. The locks accented the rich tone of the exposed column of her neck. The subtle change was enough to take his breath. It wasn’t until they sat across from each other that he noticed her broken lip in the light of the hologram. It had given him pause.

They had spoken almost like friends. And when he’d held a hand out to her… he’d simply hoped she’d take it. It had felt like the right thing in the moment.

 _Obviously not_. 

Cal rubs at his face. The darkness she’d projected when talking about her plans for Cere had been smothering. He didn’t doubt the depth of her anger. He won’t underestimate it going forward. 

And there lies the problem. He wants to find the _Mantis_. Soon. He knows he needs to bring the holocron to Cere. She would know how best to use it. But… he’s pretty sure he can’t bring Trilla with him. She couldn’t be trusted. It would be too dangerous to let her anywhere near the crew. 

So, Bracca was where he’d leave her. It had to be there. Where they’d begun was where they’d end. She’d be free to do what she liked - he just couldn’t continue on with her… not if he wanted to finish what he’d started. 

Cal doesn’t want to do it. Everything in him pushes back against the thought of being without her. And perhaps that’s why he should be. It wasn’t becoming of a Jedi to be so strongly attached. He recalls Master Vos’s words. He’d advised him not to make a choice such as this out of fear. And it wasn’t. It was out of necessity. 

His knees pop as he stands and he winces. Too many hard falls without the cushioning assistance of the Force had taken their toll over the years. He straightens his vest, “I’m going to get some sleep, little buddy. Are you staying here?”

The droid beeps an affirmative followed by a wave of its ambulatory strut. Rod waves an arm in farewell - clearly trying to mimic BD-1. It was an oddly endearing sight. 

When Cal wanders into the bunk room he almost immediately turns to leave. 

Trilla is seated on a bottom bunk, engrossed in the datapad he’d left in the galley. She looks up sharply. They hold each other’s gazes. Something is strained between them. It is stressed close to breaking. He can feel it distinctly. Can she?

“Are you going to just stand there like a lost Loth cat, or are you going to come in?”

He knows he shouldn’t, but he does anyway. The bunk opposite her depresses under his weight. She looks back down to whatever held her interest in the datapad. Cal relaxes a fraction. He tugs off his boots, setting them in just the right spot beside the bunk to be able to slip into them if he needed to leave quickly. The satchel at his side is removed and set at the end of the bunk. It’s contents hum quietly in the Force. 

Arms lifting to rest behind his head, a knee raised, he lays down. Lashes brush his cheeks as he closes his eyes. He wills his body to relax. It’s hard when every iota of his being is attuned to her. He hears her soft breathing and her subtle taps on the surface of the datapad. 

She betrays no ill intent, so when his breathing eventually deepens and he feels himself falling into sleep, he doesn’t resist it. 

——

Cal is pulled from slumber by the agonized sound of someone screaming. 

He rolls off the bunk into a defensive stance - only to quickly realize he still shares the room with only one other. _Trilla_. 

His heart seizes as his eyes focus on the restless form of the woman across from him. It takes only a cursory brush with the Force to tell she is not awake. She is whimpering now, and Cal can sense her abject terror. He’s never felt such raw emotion from her before. Curled on her side facing away from him, she trembles, arm around herself, legs drawn up protectively. Cal hovers at her side, tentatively reaching out to touch her shoulder. She flinches. “Trilla...”

In retrospect, he should have known better.

He’s on his back on the durasteel deck in an instant. The wind is knocked out of him and he gasps for air. She is on top of him, breathing just as hard as him, eyes unfocused and wet with tears. Her crimson blade hovers dangerously over his neck. The heat is constant and true. He knows he’s fortunate to still have his head. “Trill...” He swallows hard as he tries not to make any sudden movements. “H-Hey… Wake up.”

Slowly, she relaxes a fraction, sitting back more fully on his stomach. Her eyes clear and he catches the moment she comes to herself. The lightsaber deactivates and her eyes slip shut as she takes a shuddering breath. “Kestis?” 

Despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, he asks breathlessly, “Are you okay?”

Her shoulders tremble in a laugh, or maybe a sob? He can’t tell. She looks like she’s barely holding herself together - she feels like it too. The storm of emotion around her is confused and angry. She wipes at her eyes, “What do you think?”

He reaches up to take one of her hands from her face. To his surprise, she lets him. “I felt it… Your pain.”

She braces her other hand on his chest. His heart skips at the contact. “I haven’t felt that much in _years_...”

“I’m sorry.” This is a thin line to walk. Between caring for her and the indifference he’d only recently tasked himself with in preparation for what he knows he must do on Bracca. 

She shivers again and slumps over him a fraction. Cal feels her grip on his hand tighten. “It was so vivid.”

A pang of sympathy reverberates through him, “Do you have nightmares often?” 

“Not like this. This wasn’t me. It wasn’t _my_ body...” She blinks rapidly and lifts her hand from him to frown at her palm, “But it was as if I was being burned from the inside out.”

Cal’s jaw works nervously as he makes the decision to sit up, forcing Trilla to choose to either get off him or stay in his lap. 

She stays. 

Only now, they are so much closer. She is regarding him from beneath hooded lids, tired and wary. He is feeling much the same. His eyes flick down to her mouth to avoid her gaze. It is a bad idea, because now he is thinking about how soft he knows those lips are. 

“Kestis…” Her tone is both a question and a warning. 

He untangles his hand from hers. “I want you to show me.” 

Trilla betrays her surprise. “ _What?_ You can’t seriously _want_ to—“

She quiets as his hand comes to rest at her still wet cheek. He distantly marvels at its softness. “Please.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing.” She murmurs. 

“That’s why I want you to show me.” He rubs his thumb over the smooth skin beneath her eye. “I know you’ll throw me out the moment you don’t want me inside.”

She gives a short nod and closes her eyes. He does the same. As she’d claimed, he has little experience with this particular ability, given the dangerous overlap with his psychometry. He treads carefully and lets her guide him, a soft heat in his mind’s eye, to the source of her distress. 

It isn’t what he expects. 

He is restrained. Well, not him. And not her either. Someone else. They are in terrible agony. 

_“Tell me,”_ a deep, smooth, unfamiliar voice says, _“what did you hope to gain by teaming up with Asajj Ventress?”_

At that name, Cal nearly loses his grip on the scene. He feels his entire body convulse in overwhelming pain. Quickly, he’s coming to understand just whose memory he’s immersed it. 

_“She would not help you unless she had something to gain.”_

He can taste doubt. It is a freezing cold contrast to the fire eating away at him. _No, no, no.._. The thought isn’t his. 

The man speaking, towering and imposing in his cloak, approaches. Cal is shocked to recognize the face. _“I sense much fear in you, Vos.”_

Fear, anger, hate… they burn darkly within him. Cal can’t focus on what is being said, he is too overwhelmed with the intensity of the moment. This is the dark side, he registers. It turns his gut to experience it’s insidious allure ghosting over and _within_ him. 

And then the fire is consuming his nerves once more - coaxing horrible cries from him again and again...

He gasps and yanks his hand back. He is no longer suspended in torment. The hum of the _Arcanis_ is a comfort in contrast to the buzz of the containment field… Trilla is staring hard at him, looking just as affected as he feels. “Vos.” He feels sweat at his forehead and wipes it with the back of his sleeve. “That was his memory.”

“That _bastard_.” She hisses vehemently. “I have more than enough trauma to keep me up at night without his added on top of it.”

Cal can’t imagine why Master Vos would have done this to Trilla. It seemed unnecessarily cruel. He knew what it was like to have unwanted echoes of other lives stuck in one’s head - but more often than not he knew what he was getting into. Trilla didn’t seem to have been given a choice in this. “Maybe you’re meant to understand something? Are all of the memories connected to each other?”

The apex of her thighs shifts subtly over his waist and he has to bite his tongue to distract himself from the biological reaction threatening to manifest. To his relief, she seems to be oblivious to her actions, “For the most part… yes.”

He takes an uneven breath. “By what?”

“That _woman_.” Trilla huffs as she moves off of him. Cal finds himself wishing she hadn’t. He can’t help but miss the warmth of her close contact. She perches on the edge of the bunk, “I don’t much care for the reasoning. I just want it to stop.”

Cal dips his chin in contemplation, “I would help, but I don’t think I can—“

“I don’t want your help.” She snaps. 

There it was. Her closing off again. Pushing him away. Cal sighs wearily, “You might need Master Vos himself to make it stop. He planted the memories, so it makes sense that he might be able to remove them.”

“Oh, right, _of course_.” Trilla scoffs, “I’ll just get right on that.”

Cal’s lips twitch down in a frown. “Why are you being so difficult?”

“ _Difficult?_ ” Her tone is low and angry, “I think I have all the reason to be upset by this outrageous circumstance I’m in!”

“Are you talking about the memories or about being stuck with me?” He challenges, standing to his feet to tower over her for once. He feels his own ire swelling within him. He doesn’t attempt to quell it, “What is it, Trilla? What is it _exactly_ that has you so angry?!” 

She rises, forcing him to take a step back, but she gives him no quarter as she crowds him, “All of this! It’s absurd! I was better off serving the Empire than being hunted by it! At least there I’d have a _purpose!_ ”

“You’d rather be a slave to the Empire?!” He snarls back in her face, “You’d rather bow to those who _tortured_ you?! I saw what they did to you! How could you prefer them to m—?!”

Even though he thinks he might deserve it, Cal isn’t quite prepared to be violently Force thrown out into the hallway. He hits his head on the wall opposite. Black edges his vision as Trilla comes to stand in the doorway, hands fisted at her sides. The dark side is a turbulent fury about her. It seems to suck the light from around them both. “You’ll never understand the _hell_ I’ve been through! You think you know me, Jedi? You _don’t_ . I lost _everything!_ You kept your freedom and your dignity and your archaic ideals! You even had others to care for you! Cere values your life more than she ever did mine! She tossed me aside like I was _nothing!_ ”

“Trilla…” He swallows blood from where he’d accidentally bit his cheek as he impacted the bulkhead, “I know that I can’t make it right, but I want to help you—“

“Help me?” She shakes her head, “Every moment spent with you is to my detriment! You are like a sickness! I can’t be around you and not be affected!”

He frowns deeply, “I could say the same about you.”

“Then say it! Tell me I’m a poison! Call me what I am! You seem so often to forget!” Her usually velvety voice is so strained, it cracks. 

They glare at each other, but Cal can’t keep his brow from softening after a time, “You’re not a poison, Trilla. You’ve been poisoned.”

She rolls her shoulders back and looks at the ceiling in disgust, “You have such a chimerical view of things. It’s maddening.”

Did she know that he hadn’t always been as ‘chimerical’ as she described him? On Bracca, he was miserable - a fearful wreck always looking over his shoulder. At times, he felt as though hope had nearly been extinguished from him. It had only been recently that he’d come into his own. And, honestly, she was partly to blame for his path to this point. His connection with the Force is stronger than ever and he feels that he has a solid grasp of what it means to be a Jedi - even if she tests his beliefs every day. 

But maybe it was a good thing she did. From what he’d learned these past weeks, the Jedi of old were sorely lacking. He won’t abandon the teachings upon which he is founded, but he has come to see that certain old tenants and mantras take away from the core of what it means to be a servant of the Force. He thinks he can strip away what is unnecessary… and still call himself a Jedi. 

“You are on a better path now, Trilla. One where you can choose what is best for you.” He sighs, “I’m sorry… I just can’t understand how the Empire can be more appealing than that.”

She crosses her arms, his poncho bunching at her front as she does, “And what is this path, exactly? As far as I can tell, I am currently running for my life to Force knows where with a self righteous Jedi on a ship that reeks of death. Excuse me if I can’t see the good in any of this.”

“At least you have a _chance_ now. We both do.” 

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t argue further, “Whatever. I’m tired of this and of you.” She stalks off towards the cockpit.

Cal is still slumped against the wall. He listens to her boot falls fade into the distance. Each step away from him makes the knot in his chest tighter. Did she suspect him? Did she know he intended to rid her of him? 

_She’s made it clear how she feels about you_.

Has she?

He can still feel her body atop his. Can easily remember the sensation of her fingers threading through his own. The recollection of the softness of her cheek is fresh under the pad of his thumb. 

She’d let him in - let him partake in the nightmare that plagued her…

Cal rubs the back of his head, hissing at the bright shock of pain. Regardless of her occasional softness and the glimmer of light he knows is there, he can’t continue to trade it for his safety and the safety of his friends. 

He still knows what he should do. 

=+=

Trilla wants to break something. 

She is hardly ever prone to extremely violent outbursts - not like the Ninth Sister or the Fifth Brother. Even Seventh had her moments when she was pushed into a blind rage. 

Sure, Trilla will admit that she is impulsive, but she is always calculated. There is never any need for overkill. It is a waste of energy. 

Now though, now she wants to rip this ship apart. End their miserable lives before the Empire can end them for them. 

_You aren’t afraid of just the Empire_.

She leans forward in the pilot chair and grips her hair near her scalp. The painful scrape of her nails and the merciless pull of her fingers at the roots provides a momentary distraction from the turmoil inside her. 

_I hate him. I hate him. I hate him_. 

But how could she, truly? 

Time after time, he held onto hope for her despite her violence and vitriol. How could she hate him when he so evidently wanted the best for her? It truly did make her sick to know he continued to champion her in the face of everything she’d done. It was a testament to his compassion. Jedi or not, he would be this way, she thinks. To be so kind had to be something innate. Something forged in his youth. Who had set the standard for him, she wonders?

Surely not Jaro Tapal. He had been an old guard Jedi. A stickler for regulation and the Code. A perfect choice for a youngling as adrift as Cal had apparently been according to the records. There was no other master in his life before then - none outside of the ones that taught the traditional Temple courses for every youngling. 

There is a lot she doesn’t know about him, she realizes. She could only divine so much from the files. Especially when he wasn’t a particularly stand out padawan. It had surprised her. To possess an ability so rare and powerful… and to be so sidelined… It annoyed her. 

The Jedi truly had no idea what a prodigy they had had in their midst. For Kestis to go from a padawan barely able to protect himself to someone so formidable that he may as well be a knight in such a short time… He could have been truly great. 

Now though, he would have to spend the rest of his life in the shadows if he wanted to have a life at all. 

And so would she. 

Trilla calls up the nav chart and takes note of the short amount of time they had left until they reached Bracca. Barely an hour. 

She would use this time to plan for their next course of action. Maybe they could try for a world with a little more greenery? Even as she idly scrolls about the galaxy, Trilla can’t shake a feeling of foreboding. As if none of this is going to matter very soon. 

_You’ll likely only have yourself to blame when this falls apart_. 

——

Bracca is just as depressing as she remembers. 

The landscape is an ugly expanse of ruined and rusted wrecks. Slowly, more ships are guided to the surface to join others. There is a constant hum of machinery and the crashing of metal. Occasionally, a sentient’s voice rings out a warning or an order. This is all backed by the soft patter of rain. The gentlest thing in the yards, Kestis says as they step out into it. BD-1 huddles against his neck, trying to stay dry. The small platform area Kestis had singled out for her to land upon was a few klicks from where she’d originally found him - he tells her in the blankest voice she’s ever heard from him. 

“Where will we find fuel?” Trilla glances around, stepping harshly into a muddy puddle and instantly feeling the cold gunk wash up and into the tops of her boots. Her mood sours considerably. 

Kestis points towards a large warehouse - the only one in the vicinity. It is dwarfed by the wreck of a Venator towering behind it. “All salvageable fuel is processed for impurities and shipped to the Imperial outposts in this corner of the Rim. It’s cheap and the Empire doesn’t care if it’s more dangerous than fresh fuel.” 

Trilla files away that interesting bit of information and follows the Jedi towards the building. He yanks his sleeve up and flashes his tattoo - the one she’d long wondered about - in front of a camera beside the door. A deep mechanical voice says something in what sounded like Huttese. 

Kestis holds up three fingers, “Mee naga three che Dredge.” 

So he speaks the language? Trilla supposes that makes sense, given that many of the guilds were known to be backed with Hutt money. 

“Come noleeya.” The camera appears to blink as it responds. The door hisses open. An eye watering wave of gas hits Trilla and she coughs into the collar of the poncho. Kestis walks in, apparently unaffected. 

He turns to her, “Keep your head down. We could be found out at any moment.”

Trilla defers to his experience here. She has no idea what the protocol is when stealing fuel from a crime syndicate, but the last thing they want is to rouse anyone’s suspicion. The Empire was still very much in control of this planet. Probe droids scoured the wrecks at all hours. It was how she’d found Kestis, after all. 

By the time the Jedi stops in front of a closed door near the back of the warehouse, Trilla is feeling light headed from all the noxious fumes. BD-1 beeps in concern. She hears Kestis knock a specific pattern. The door opens promptly. When Kestis motions her into the room, her mind instantly clears. This area is well ventilated. And bright. Very bright. 

“Ahhh! Hello, boy!” A Mon Calamari approaches with a jovial expression, “Dredge sent you with an order? Three canisters?”

Kestis doesn’t return the fish’s enthusiasm, instead replying dryly, “Yeah, and he wants them two hours ago. The electro lines on the lower wreck are sucking the sarlacc’s flatulence at this point.”

Trilla raises a thin brow at that. The Mon Cala grimaces, “Oh dear, that’s not good.” He pauses, “I’ll need to see your chain code and the physical order before we go any further though.”

Curse the Emperor and his want to catalog every inhabitant of his ever expanding Empire. Trilla sighs and Kestis shoots her a cautioning look. She responds with a half sneer. 

“Look, Dredge wants to keep this transaction between you and him. No trace.” Kestis stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I’m just the guy in the middle.”

The fish gapes at him, “I-I cannot simply _give_ these to you! I need to follow the proper channels!”

Casual demeanor suddenly gone, Kestis advances on the Mon Cala, poking him roughly in the chest, “Cut it out, Garba. Dredge knows you run a side gig here. Fuck, half the yards know! Now, hand over the canisters or my boss is gonna have a word with the governor about you selling the good stuff to Crimson Dawn at a _premium_.”

Garba makes pitiful gasping noises, “O-Oh _fine!_ Take them! Take them! I don’t want any trouble!”

“Good.”

Trilla is mildly impressed. She wouldn’t have thought the Jedi had it in him to be so intimidating. He whirls around to catch her eye and flicks two gloved fingers towards a line of red canisters nearby, “They have repulsars built in. Hurry up, we need to get them to the boss.” She watches him press a button on the side of his and follows suit, pushing the now floating tanks before her. 

Behind them, the fish grumbles about his deals getting worse all the time. 

When they clear the warehouse, Trilla allows herself to be pleasantly surprised with how well their heist had gone off. “You’d make a fine criminal.” She snarks at the back of Kestis’s rain soaked head. It reminds her to be grateful for the poncho’s hood.

“Technically, I already am.” He replies, voice still disturbingly devoid of much emotion. 

She supposes that’s true. 

They are nearly back to the _Arcanis_ when their fortune inevitably runs out. A half dozen swoop bikes are gathered around the ship. Only two have riders. The masked beings dismount to meet them with raised blasters. “You two the owners of this vessel?”

“Uh,” Kestis shifts the volatile gas canister from in front of him, “Who’s asking?”

Trilla has a strange feeling. She’s felt it before. An echo of something the Force once warned her of. She whispers from the corner of her mouth, “Something isn’t right.”

“We are the Cloud-Riders. You have something of ours.” The one speaking shoulders his rifle, “We are taking it back.”

As if on cue, the cargo ramp at the rear of the vessel descends into the mud with a muted ‘thump’. In the sterile light of the hold, a handful of figures are illuminated. One stands prominent among them. An elaborate mask obscures their face and a cloak collared in fur lines their shoulders. They hold a weaponized staff to their side. It crackles with energy on one end. A coarse, modulated voice rings out from them, “Did you kill Emri?”

“Who is Emri?” Trilla shoots back. Who did these people think they were, barging into their ship like they owned it?

The figure is clearly unimpressed. They point to a hovering coffin at their side. “ _This_ is Emri. They were in _your_ cargo hold. I can only assume _you_ killed them!”

Kestis holds up his hands, “We didn’t kill them! They were already dead when we took this ship for our own just a few days ago!”

Another one of the Cloud-Riders leans in to speak low to who was now obviously their leader. The figure nods and their shoulders rise and fall in what seems to be a sigh, “You two killed the bounty hunters?”

“Yes. Us and another of the hunter’s prisoners.” Kestis wipes rain from his eyes. “We weren’t aware of who the body belonged to.”

“So…” The voice almost sounds amused, “Ohnaka was telling us the truth.”

Trilla groans aloud. Of course the pirate had something to do with this. He’d been the one to tell them about the corpse in the first place. “How much did you pay him for the information?”

“Enough.” 

Kestis sounds worried, “But how did you know we’d be here?”

The Cloud-Rider leader sends several of their goons down to them, “Come in out of the rain, and we’ll discuss it. My riders will refuel your ship for you.”

“You can’t honestly believe we can trust them?!” Trilla hisses as Kestis passes the canisters off. 

He ignores her and sludges up the cargo ramp, tracking mud in his wake. She follows, becoming increasingly irritated by his demeanor. Had she irreparably compromised their relationship earlier? Why isn’t he looking at her like he usually does? What is he thinking walking into what has all the hallmarks of a trap? 

They settle in the galley. Trilla leans against the end of the booth beside where Kestis is seated. Something about the dark slits of this mystery being’s mask are setting her on edge. “Who are you?”

The Cloud-Rider leader nods to their several guards who promptly leave to stand just outside the door. With that, the masked being becomes mask-less. The heavy metal helmet is placed on the table between them. “You may call me Nest.”

She is beautiful. 

Trilla blinks in shock and feels the same surprise emanating from Kestis. Her voice is sharp as she asks, “So tell us, _Nest_ , how did you track us here?”

The other woman smiles demurely, “We knew you had been on Celanon Station. The pirate told us what your fuel status was and how you had no credits to buy any more. We vectored your possible destinations and narrowed down your probable landfall. As soon as you dropped out of hyperspace, my informants alerted me.”

So it was luck then. 

Kestis drums his finger on the table, “Great, so who else knows where we are?”

Nest’s countenance sobers, “None on Celanon Station, that’s for certain.”

Trilla sucks in a sharp breath. She knows _exactly_ what she is about to tell them. “Damn it…”

“What?” Kestis looks up at her and then over to Nest, “What is it?”

“The station was destroyed by the Empire. None survived.” Her tone is somber, “Apparently it was a message to the crime syndicates.”

“No.” Trilla recalls the children running all about the halls of the station. Her stomach lurches at the knowledge that they are nothing but vapor in the cold vacuum of space now. “It was a message for _me_.”

Nest appraises her, “You must have angered the Empire greatly then.” She leans back and sighs, “Regardless of the reason, the Empire is wholly at fault for the slaughter. Do not blame yourself. They do not need any real justification to invoke terror.” 

Kestis is concerningly silent.

“Ohnaka barely made it out before you did, apparently. He always seems to know how to escape calamity… ”

The Jedi is deeply affected by this news, she can tell. She’s not sure why, but just as he had grounded her earlier when she came out of her nightmare, she seeks to do the same for him. Trilla drops her hand to his shoulder. His fiery hair is still wet against her fingers. He is stiff beneath her touch. He leans forward and buries his face in his hands, sighing heavily. “All those people…”

“Yes. So many lives cruelly snuffed out...” There is a dangerous glint in Nest’s eyes. “And that is why we fight the Empire. We seek to stop their senseless slaughter and decimation of worlds!”

Oh great. A rebel.

Trilla rolls her eyes, “What can you lot do against the Empire?”

“Plenty!” Nest says defensively, “We have given Imperial forces hell across the Outer Rim. Raiding their less protected bases, pirating their supply ships, destroying their listening posts, just to name a few.”

“What will any of it matter in the end?” Trilla scoffs, “You are just a few dozen meddlers.”

“We have allies across the galaxy! This is just the beginning!” Nest stands abruptly, snatching her helmet up and holding it beneath her arm. “And I want to involve you two in our endeavors.”

Kestis seems predictably interested, “What do you mean?”

In contrast to her previously soft touch, Trilla works her thumb mercilessly into the back of his neck, causing the Jedi to muffle a pained noise. She asks smoothly, “Yes. What makes you think we’re going to do anything for you?”

“Because, I know you two are Jedi.”

Trilla immediately questions her mind trick on Hondo. Hadn’t it worked? And then she registers that this miscreant before her thought her to be a Jedi. How insulting. 

“How do you know?” Kestis asks guardedly. 

“I’ve come to recognize a Jedi when I see one… plus you’re not doing much to hide the fact that you carry lightsabers.” She smirks at Trilla’s scowl, “I have befriended a Force wielder before you - so I know the tells.”

Kestis brushes past Trilla as he stands to approach Nest, eyes wide, “You know a Jedi?”

“Yes. I was using her as an informant, but she is now being held on Nar Shaddaa.” The Cloud-Rider leader looks more annoyed at that than anything, “A Hutt took her, so I suppose she may very well still be alive, unlike the Jedi captured by the Empire… I could use your help freeing her.” Trilla feels like she’s just been slapped in the face. She barely reins in her rage as Nest places a friendly hand on Kestis’s arm, “I can still remember the bravery and wisdom of the Jedi. I want to see them rise again, to help restore peace to the galaxy. I want to be able to tell my daughter that they are not simply legends.”

Kestis nods at the pretty words like the great fool he is, “I want to help you—” 

_“No.”_ Trilla grabs his arm and pulls him to her side. “This is ridiculous! We don’t even know if this marauder is telling us the truth!”

He rips out of her grasp, turning on her, “If there is a Jedi I can help, I’ll do it, Trilla!”

“That’s exactly what Nest wants!” She gestures emphatically at the affronted woman, “She wants to use you!”

The woman scoffs, “Of course I do! He possesses the skills to retrieve my informant, and he wants to rescue a fellow Jedi. It works out for us _both_. My only question is why you wouldn’t like to do the same?”

Trilla rounds on Nest, conjuring perhaps more malice than necessary, “ _Leave us_.”

The Cloud-Rider leader scoffs at the order, but retreats just the same, “I will be awaiting your answer in the cargo bay.”

Kestis runs a hand nervously through his hair as she looks to him, “Trilla, I have to do this. You can take the _Arcanis_ , go your own way, and I’ll leave with them—“

_What?_

She suddenly feels short of breath. This is not what she wanted at all. Her eyes search his resolute ones. How had she not seen it sooner? Ever since they’d landed on Bracca, he’d been _strange…_ “Absolutely not.” 

He deflates visibly and shakes his head, “I think by now you and I both know that this,” he gestures between them, “isn’t going to work.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” She whispers harshly. 

Kestis leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest, “You’ve made it pretty clear. Over and over.”

“No...” Panic has taken root in her now. He can’t do this. She can’t be abandoned again. 

“I’m leaving.” He’s not looking at her anymore, eyes cast towards the door. “It’s what you’ve wanted—“

“ _No_.” Trilla closes the galley door with a wave of her hand and advances on the Jedi, furious, “How dare you presume to know what I want.” She hovers near, looking down the bridge of her nose at him. A flicker of doubt flashes across his features. 

“But this entire time,” His voice is rough, “you’ve pushed me away. You’ve made me out to be a burden.”

She had meant to only hold him at bay just enough so that he wouldn’t dare to hope. Not so much that she would lose him completely. A fool’s endeavor, obviously. Of course he’d come to see the futility in remaining with her, after all she’d done and said... All her threats compounded... Trilla lifts a hand to hover beside his cheek, so close to touching him, “It's not what you think.”

His emerald eyes search her, a shaky exhale escaping, “Isn’t it?”

Stars, she wants to tell him everything. All of it. She wants to come clean. 

She wants, she wants, she _wants…_

“I don’t want you to go alone.” It’s a deflection. She can see the disappointment in his face as she continues, “I don’t trust these Cloud-Riders. You will need me.” 

He scoffs and brushes her hand away from where it still lingered near his face, “It _almost_ sounds like you care.“

“I kept you out of the Empire’s clutches, didn’t I?” She says as though it should tell him everything he needs to know. 

“ _After_ you took me prisoner!” The Jedi’s pretty mouth purses in anger, “And I thought you said you did it for yourself!” 

“I didn’t want them to have you!” Trilla raises her voice, “So, yes!” She flexes her hands at her sides and it takes everything in her to hold his gaze, “I did it for _myself_.”

A growl of frustration escapes him as he turns from her to pace several steps away - keeping his back to her. “I’m not something for you to toy with! I’m not _yours!”_

“You want to be!” It leaves her lips without forethought. Trilla doesn’t need to see his face to know his pale complexion is now likely flushed. 

His voice is almost resentful, “Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. You don’t feel the same.” 

“So sure, are you?” 

A ripple of surprise rolls off him. He’s mid turn towards her when a knock sounds and the door to the galley swishes open. One of the Cloud-Riders in an oval mask says dryly, “Nest doesn’t have all day. You owe her an answer.”

Trilla is two steps ahead of Kestis as she sweeps from the room. She feels his displeasure sharply in the Force. She almost thinks he’s projecting it on purpose. As though he wants her to know they aren’t finished.

In the cargo hold, Nest appraises their tense forms, “I take it that I won’t have your assistance then?” 

Kestis pipes up before Trilla can. “We will do it, but only on the condition that you finance the entire job.” 

She glances back at him. _‘We?’_ she mouths. 

He doesn’t look at her, but nods in confirmation all the same.

So, she wouldn’t have to resort to throwing him in the brig to keep him close after all. 

“Well then, it appears we are in business.” Nest waves a hand at the coffin she’d originally come to collect. “Once the data is extracted from Emri, I will be able to give you all the latest intel on my Jedi’s location. Until then, be waiting for instruction.”

——

Night has fallen on Bracca, and the Cloud-Riders’ swoop bikes are a swarm of lights as they disappear into the darkness of the yards. 

Kestis pushes the door controls and the cargo ramp raises and shuts with a pressurizing hiss. Trilla stops him with a hand on his chest as he goes to pass her. He looks up at her, startled and maybe a little exasperated, “What?”

There is so much she wishes she could say. So many things she wants to express. 

_I’m sorry for what I did here. For what I did to that friend of yours._

_I want you so much it’s driving me insane._

_...thank you for not leaving me..._

Her fear chokes out every effort to speak these things. 

Trilla lets her hand fall from him and she lies easily, “It’s nothing.” 

But it’s not. 

And from the somber look he’s giving her, he seems to know it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when trilla was recalling her peers that had left or betrayed the jedi - she was specifically thinking of ahsoka and barriss. 
> 
> peep cal recognizing dooku in vos’s memory
> 
> ‘nest’ is enfys nest’s mother. at the time of this story, enfys is around 13. maybe she’ll be making an appearance?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so very sorry for the long wait! for your patience, i am giving you 2 chapters!

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

  
He’s alone. 

It’s just him and the stars and Bracca looming grey and grim below. The dreary world consumes the bottom half of the viewport. 

The sight is nearly identical to the one he’d had from the bridge of the Venator in the days before the end. Before the Purge. His master would often have him stand at his side in front of the long stretch of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the bow of the ship. It was there that Master Tapal would sometimes explain the intricacies of an ongoing space battle or impart some cryptic wisdom that Cal would simply nod and pretend to understand. Most often though, they would stand in silence. At the time, he had not recognized those instances as exercises, but now he could see them as such. His master had endeavored to teach him patience and inner stillness in the heart of the war. 

He can’t be sure the lesson ever stuck. 

Because, as he sits in the cockpit of a stolen ship over a planet he could go the rest of his life without ever seeing again, Cal Kestis is anything but at peace. 

Looking inward, he is a wreck of confusion and doubt and irritation. What had he been thinking, agreeing to rescue Nest’s Jedi? He couldn’t be sure this wasn’t a trap. In honesty, he couldn’t be sure of anything. Especially when it came to his female companion. 

Except, he couldn’t really say that anymore. 

Not after today. 

He had felt that thing between them strain thinner than ever. Words unspoken and spoken had weighed heavy between them. She had objected so strongly to the idea of him parting ways with her - he’d had no rebuttal prepared for her. He had hoped she would simply agree with him and go her own way. 

He’d been a fool to assume. 

But he’s also learned something. 

Trilla did feel for him. In her own way. He wouldn’t pretend to understand the nature or depth of her care, but it was undeniable now. The knowledge does little to comfort him. It only makes his future decisions that much harder. 

Like the one he is agonizing over now. 

Under his frozen hands is the comms unit. Keyed in is a familiar code. His heart pounds. He could risk it. He could tap out a message and send it off. After, he could wipe the logs and then block the code from sending a return transmission. 

He just wants them to know he is alive. 

Are they even looking for him? Had they given up? Assumed he was dead or lost to the Empire? Cal doesn’t want to believe Cere would so easily move on - especially considering that the fates of the younglings listed in the holocron were still in jeopardy. 

And yet… 

He wouldn’t be the first person Cere had abandoned. 

_ No… she wouldn’t... They’re looking for me. I know it.  _

A muted beep indicates the message is sent and Cal quickly works to vanish any trace of it from the terminal. 

——

With no idea of when Nest might contact them, Cal leaves the cockpit and makes for the galley to look for anything to fill the pit in his stomach. There, he scrounges up a few ration bars. Stuffing a spare in one of his pants pockets and another in his mouth, Cal heads to the engine compartment next. 

He hears Trilla before he sees her. She is berating Rod, the battle droid turned engineer, “No! I don’t need the power output decreased in the starboard converter, I need you to pull from the port side and level them out!”

“It is not recommended—“

“I know that! This is only until we make landfall again and I can have you access the problem from the outside.”

“I could attempt a float repair?”

He hears her sigh long sufferingly, “You’re not an astromech! Just… do as I’ve ordered.”

When Cal walks in, he almost chokes on his ration bar at the sight of her. Trilla has positioned her hair in a bun atop her head and shed both her jacket and her undershirt. She stands in the middle of the room, wearing only a band of fabric across her chest. Her midriff is noticeably toned and her cleavage shines with sweat. The compartment is admittedly pretty warm… And now so is he. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her this way before - but even back then in the cave he’d tried not to ogle her. 

The keyword being  _ ‘tried’ _ . 

“So.” He clears his throat, “What’s wrong with the engine?”

Trilla doesn’t look up from the datapad in her hand, “The engine is not the problem. It’s the thrusters. One of them must have been damaged leaving Celanon Station. I think a catylster in the starboard unit is at fault.”

Cal holds out a hand to her. She places the datapad in it. He doesn’t doubt her analysis, he just wants something else to look at besides her. “Why didn’t we notice this before?”

“We didn’t need the sublight thrusters in hyperspace and while I did detect a power sink in our approach to Bracca, it wasn’t until we took off again that I noticed the severity.”

“You know a lot about starcraft engineering.”

“Just the basics.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” He looks to her out of the corner of his eye. Her gaze is fixed on the decking, a small frown twisting her mouth. He fishes the extra ration bar from his pocket and pokes her bare arm with it, “Here.”

From the brief surprise and suspicion that flashes across her features, she obviously didn’t expect such an abrupt offering. She snatches it from him, “Cal Kestis, you’re going to make a habit of this, aren’t you?”

Cal shrugs, feeling a little self conscious, “I just figured you hadn’t eaten.”

She gives him a strange look, and then opens the bar and takes a bite. He knows it’s taste is not that great, but she doesn’t seem to mind. He had become used to the dry, bland texture during the war. He often had little time for a proper meal in those days. She must have had a similar experience. 

It occurs to Cal that Trilla has barely mentioned her life as a Jedi. He can imagine why, but it only makes him more curious. Surely, they had walked the same halls - it was practically a guarantee that she had been in the Temple at the same time as him. And yet, he cannot recall her. It’s not so surprising. Trilla most likely hadn’t been around much, but still, she couldn’t be much older than he… So the chances that she is buried in some distant obscure memory is high. What had she been like back then? Certainly studious, as she’d indicated before, but who had she been  _ really? _ Always smiling? Or was she more stoic? Maybe a bit mischievous? Cal can almost imagine her - light robes, a single braid swaying against her sharp jaw and elegant neck as she makes her way through the Temple. Green eyes bright and clear. Maybe she gives a softer version of that smirk of hers as she speaks to a friend… 

He is taken out of his musing by the sound of her brushing her fingers together - ridding them of crumbs. When she turns towards him, his cheeks heat. She’s so very beautiful. He hates the way his mind wanders towards thoughts of her skin and the way it might feel under his touch. Cal bites the inside of his lip and keeps his gaze on her knowing one. She steps a bit closer. He stops breathing. She reaches down between them… and stuffs the empty ration wrapper in his pant pocket. He swallows hard at the feeling of her fingers sliding along his thigh. She snatches the datapad back from his loose grip and slips past him. A subtle wave of her hand and her discarded clothes are called to her. 

Cal stands there for a moment, shaken, before he hurries after her into the corridor. “Hey!”

She is pulling her jacket back on, Imperial insignia glaring white on her bicep. She lets it hang open as she halts and turns to him. “What is it?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Trilla crosses her arms. “That depends on what you ask.” 

He rubs the back of his neck, unsure if this is the right time for such a question, but he desperately wants some sort of confirmation that they shared the same space and time once. Anything to reconnect with an era that he has come to feel more and more distant from, “I was wondering… do you remember Master Sinube?”

There is a long and very uncomfortable pause. Trilla seems frozen in place. Her eyes unfocused. As the seconds stretch on, he realizes he may have made a grave error. 

When she finally speaks, it’s not to deflect or brush off his inquiry. “I remember that he had kind eyes.” She murmurs. “And that he was always aware. He could tell when something was amiss.”

Cal nods once and gives a small smile, “Yeah, he was really nice. I didn’t get to talk to him as much as I would have liked though…” He recalls those few times he’d been taken aside by the Cosian and encouraged to hone his psychometry. The ancient Jedi had not been afraid of his ability like the other masters sometimes seemed to be. 

Her face is turned away now, her hair obscuring her features. “He did not die well.” 

Cal manages to keep his reaction minimal. He kicks himself for even bringing this up at all. There was a reason they didn’t talk about the past. “I didn’t mean to—“

“But you  _ did _ .” Trilla sighs, “Master Sinube died during an Imperial interrogation. He refused to give up the locations of other survivors.” She hums darkly, “But, perhaps then he  _ did _ die well then. He managed to maintain his honor until the end. While my traitorous master gave me up and proved herself a coward when faced with her failure.”

Her hurt is palpable. Cal runs a weary hand down his face. This really wasn’t what he intended to dredge up. “Trilla, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” She shakes her head, a lightless smile on her lips, “What about her? Is she sorry?”

He hesitates. He can’t be sure exactly what Cere’s feelings are towards Trilla. She’d seemed remorseful and sad speaking of her, but beyond that, he couldn’t say truly what she felt. “I think she mourns you.”

“Mourns me?” Trilla hisses, holding a hand to her chest incredulously, “As if I’m dead!?”

Cal steps closer, “She mourns who you  _ were _ .”

“That’s absurd!” Her voice wavers, “She was the one who did this to me!” 

The wound he’d unwittingly opened bleeds from her as though it is fresh. He extends a hand to her, “The hate you cling to doesn’t change anything but you, Trilla. The revenge you want will never undo what happened. It will bring nothing but more suffering—“

“I don’t need one of your Jedi lectures.” She scoffs, “I want her to  _ pay _ for what she did!”

“She already is! She lost you and she cut herself off from the Force!”

The former Inquisitor snaps back, “She did that because she’s afraid of herself!!”

“Maybe…” Cal can’t disagree with her. She is right. He knows it takes strength to refuse the Force, but if Cere’s resolve to be separate from that innate side of her was based upon her fear of what she’d done… the fear of the dark side, then yes, it was almost a selfish act. 

And to have him do what she would not, hunt down the holocron, it did give him pause. Cere was a vastly more experienced Jedi. She’d known Master Cordova well. And on top of all of that, it had been her commission in the Order to search for young Force sensitives. It made little sense for her to task him solely with the mission when she could easily be there beside him - instead of back at the  _ Mantis _ .

He wouldn’t deny feeling used. Of course he’d wanted to help Cere, but she had been slow to give him all the information about who she really was. And especially about who Trilla was to her. It had sown seeds of doubt in his mind, and while he didn’t expect Cere to be perfect, he didn’t appreciate being misled. But even though he didn’t approve of all of Cere’s actions, he understood now why she struggled and would never wish her any harm. 

And so, Trilla’s continued animosity towards just the mention of her old master was the sole reason Cal could not let them cross paths. When Nest had asked him to rescue their Jedi contact, he’d jumped at the opportunity not only to save a Jedi, but also to potentially reunite with the  _ Mantis _ crew after that.

That wasn’t meant to be now, not with Trilla’s insistence that she stay with him. He still didn’t know how to process that - her want to remain at his side. And then there had been her insinuations of returned affection that he can’t keep from cycling through his mind...

_ ‘So sure, are you?’ _

Cal isn’t certain what the future holds, but for now it held Trilla. If she wanted to be with him, he wouldn’t object. For all the hell she’d put him through, he felt he was better for knowing her the way he did - even if it hurt sometimes. 

“Lost in the stars?” She asks, the edge in her voice has softened. 

He blinks and comes back to himself, a bit flushed at having gotten distracted by his own thoughts, “I was just…” A pause, meeting her inquisitive gaze, “I was wondering where this path we’re on will lead us.”

“Sounds like a waste of energy to consider such a thing.” 

Just then, BD-1 races between their feet towards the cockpit, beeping urgently. 

“BD-1 says that—!”

“I know what it said!” She snaps as they follow the droid. Before Cal can reach the comm, Trilla accepts the incoming call. A blue hologram of Nest shimmers to life before them. “It’s about time.” Trilla snarks, arms crossed. 

Cal sighs inwardly. He didn’t fault Trilla for her wariness of the Cloud-Riders, but did she have to be so hostile? He clears his throat and asks, “What intel do you have for us?”

Nest seems to give Trilla a reproachful look, before focusing on him, “I’m transmitting a file package now. Transfer it to your droid and then purge it from your onboard system.”

“Right.” 

“Good, now listen very carefully.”

=+=

It is said that one should never become desperate enough to trust the untrustworthy. 

And yet, Trilla has found herself in such a position. 

Kestis is being annoyingly chatty with Nest over the comm. The woman had finally made the call to the  _ Arcanis _ half a day after they’d left Bracca. Trilla sits in the pilot’s seat and fine tunes the ship’s thruster output from the main computer, trying to correct whatever damage she’d done to them in their hasty escape from the hangar on Celanon Station. Rod had accomplished what it could in the engine room, but she would need to put the vessel on the ground again to truly fix it. Listing about open space these past hours had given her a chance to at least identify the problem though. 

“So, you’re saying we need to infiltrate what basically amounts to a fortress?” Kestis’s voice pitches higher at the end of his query, betraying his unease. 

Nest’s shimmering hologram crosses her arms, “Essentially. It’s a complex designed to bottleneck anyone who enters. Very few external entrances and exits. There is one grand atrium in the center with a glass roof. That’s the only weakness we can really pinpoint. It would likely create a lot of chaos if broken.”

Nearby, BD-1 is projecting the fractured schematics the Cloud-Rider leader had transmitted. It’s far too incomplete to be of much use. Kestis peruses them just the same. “What if we used the servants entrance?”

“No, it’s bound to be under more surveillance than you think. The Hutts are a paranoid bunch. They trust those closest to them the least.”

“O- _ kayyy _ .” Kestis taps his chin idly and then zooms in on a service platform, “What about posing as a delivery drop off?”

Nest is quiet for a moment, and then she nods slow, “Perhaps. There is a set of clearance codes here that my contact managed to beam off before she was taken.”

“Let’s put them to use then.” 

Trilla has her own thoughts on the operation, but she rather likes watching the other two struggle to come up with a solid plan. It made her realize just how much more capable she was than the novice Jedi and the pirate playing rebel. Both of them were naive and disappointingly unimaginative. 

“Do we have any idea where they might be keeping your contact?” Trilla interjects, not looking up from the display she is working at. 

Nest is defensive, “No. That is where your Jedi intuition comes in.”

Trilla raises a brow and looks over her shoulder at them, “We don’t know what manner of suppressants this Hutt has at his disposal. We may be unable to locate them with the Force alone.”

Kestis smooths his hair into place as he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He looks tired in the blue holo light. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night - due to that horrific nightmare of hers. “Alright then, so we’re going in completely blind with basically no idea what to expect.”

“Essentially… yes. But that is why you are perfect for the job. A Jedi possesses all the skills necessary to pull off such a mission.” Nest says confidently. 

“If that were so, then how did your Jedi get captured?” Trilla asks dryly. “Jedi aren’t all powerful beings. They are easily dealt with if you know what you are doing. And it seems like this Grakkus the Hutt knows  _ exactly _ how to capture and hold one.”

The other woman’s annoyance can almost be felt across space, “My informant got taken through a… ah…  _ misunderstanding _ \- and while it is true Grakkus is proud of his prize - he will not expect such a rescue attempt. No one has ever dared such a thing.”

“And yet you implied he was a paranoid, distrustful slug. So, it stands to reason that he’d be ready for anything.” Trilla points out, crossing a leg as she swivels her chair to face them, “We cannot afford to misstep. The Hutts are quick to dole out vengeance for the smallest perceived slight against them.” She points at the front entrance of the complex, “We would be better off presenting ourselves to Grakkus directly.”

Kestis balks, _ “What?” _

“Hmm...” Nest’s holo form rubs her chin. “Hutts are indeed prideful creatures. They like flattery and worship. If you two approached Grakkus to pay him tribute, you might be granted at least a bit of time with minimal scrutiny.”

Trilla is pleased by the other woman’s agreement, “Yes. We could pose as bounty hunters - since the  _ Arcanis _ is likely already registered in Nar Shaddaa’s flight records - they would assume us still affiliated with the Haxion Brood. It’s a passable cover.”

“I thought you frowned upon playing bounty hunter?” Kestis quips. 

She rolls her eyes, “Believe me, I still do.” 

“Hey, it’s not like you don’t have experience  _ hunting _ people.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Well? It’s true.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Ehhh, it kinda is.”

“I am leagues above those that hunt for profit.”

“At least they get paid for their efforts. What did you get?”

“I’ll have you know that I commanded  _ legions— _ “

“If you two are done.” Nest’s tone is one of annoyance, “I would like to get this operation moving as soon as possible.”

Trilla catches the Jedi’s small smirk before it disappears. She realizes that she too had been smiling, even as they bickered. 

_ Ridiculous _ . 

——

There were a few details they could not plan out. For lack of information or because they simply couldn’t agree. Too much of the mission was being left to chance for Trilla’s taste, but then again, she’d accomplished many with less preparation over the years. As a Jedi and as an Inquisitor. They stood a good chance of success as long as they didn’t make any egregious mistakes. 

The irony of the situation isn’t lost on her. Not long ago, she would have hunted and killed this Jedi they were endeavoring to rescue. How quickly things had changed. 

Kestis stirs in his sleep. They had agreed to rest before they reached Nar Shaddaa, but Trilla found slumber unattainable. She can still conjure the phantom pain of Vos’s memories - the intensity of his torture at the hands of none other than Count Dooku. The leader of the Separatists and a once great Jedi. Knowing what she does now concerning the fall of the Republic and the dramatic rise of the Empire… Trilla has to wonder how much the Count had known of Palpatine’s treachery.

The more she dwelt on it, the more she realized that the entirety of the war could have been one massive deception. 

The thought is almost too much to bear. 

She’d heard Jedi Masters whisper about Sith plots in the Temple Halls when they thought keen padawan ears weren’t listening. How terribly amusing was it that even their worst fears likely could not have matched what would be such a devastating blow to the Order and the Republic they served. 

Trilla can’t bring herself to pity the Jedi. Their pride and hypocrisy veiled by their serene countenances and pretty words had spoiled the Order and the fresh generations of naive younglings in their charge. 

And yet, she is reminded again of Master Sinube. A centuries old Jedi that had maintained his composure and his loyalty until the very end. He had spouted the usual rhetoric in his final breaths, but never did he waver. When Trilla had been made to watch his interrogation in the early months of her Inquisitor role, she had initially tried to separate herself from the moment and let the torture wash over her, but when he’d looked directly at her, beyond her mask, she’d been forced to see into the memories of the lessons he’d taught her long before Cere took her under wing. 

_ ‘There is no death. There is only the Force _ .’

And she believed him, even as his battered corpse sagged inert in binders. She believed him. 

And when she was punished for recoiling from the sight of the Grand Inquisitor callously beheading his lifeless body, Trilla had almost wished it was her in Master Sinube’s place. At least he was finally free, even as his mortal form was dishonored. 

Trilla stares hard at the bottom of the bunk above her. Paint is peeling off the metal. A flush of rust here or there mars the surface. She sighs into the darkness and idly picks at the flaking grey paint. 

Kestis moves restlessly once again. 

She is about to scold him for his disquiet, when she is suddenly cut off by a sensation she can only describe as falling, but in no definitive direction. Panic grips her. 

All she knows is pitch black. 

And then she hears Vos’s voice, snarling dark and angry,  _ “They all warned me you were out for yourself. And you were. You didn’t care about me at all!” _

Trilla reaches out for anything, but there is nothing but rage and the familiar feeling of betrayal lodged deep in her heart. Distantly, like a voice muffled by the roar of an ocean, a reply is heard, broken and pleading,  _ “I did lie to you!” “I was afraid!” “I’m sorry!”  _

There’s more. More words said in anguish and anger that she can’t fully register because of how disorienting the whole experience is. Thus memory is not like the others. Where they had always been quite clear, this one is a disaster. If she didn’t know any better she’d say this was a memory Vos had attempted to bury, or perhaps just wasn’t in the right mind at the time to even retain an accurate picture of what had taken place. 

All she knows is that she can’t seem to remove herself from it. It clings to her mind like a creature that desires blood. 

She is compelled to give it what it wants. 

Trilla wakes - not even realizing she’d ever lost consciousness - straddling the Jedi. Her hands are firm around his neck. His hands are equally as firm around her wrists. It is obvious he is straining to keep her at bay. Trilla releases him with a startled gasp, but he keeps a hold of her arms, likely out of an abundance of precaution. He takes a labored breath, “Why?”

Why, indeed. 

She struggles for an explanation. One she doesn’t really have. “I— I was not myself.”

“Strangling me is kinda your thing though...” He grumbles hoarsely and then arches his back a bit, clearly trying to get more comfortable under her weight. His hips nudge up into the space between her thighs as he does. A shock of desire cuts through the confusing haze of emotions the memory had left her with. She feels instantly inflamed. Reflexively, she shifts, hips rolling just a fraction against his in return. He freezes, his lips part in tempting innocence. 

Their eyes meet. 

Trilla stills. Her tongue presses hard against her teeth and she looks away. Vos’s anguish and anger are still echoing within her. She feels uncertain of herself. Of anything she’s feeling. Without any explanation given to Kestis’s quizzical expression, Trilla moves off of him to leave. 

She makes it only a single step from his bunk. 

“Wait.”

Her shoulders drop with a small sigh. She just wanted out of this situation with an iota of her dignity - as if she hadn’t been seated atop him in the most lecherous manner a moment before. “What?”

“Stay.” His voice is soft, his eyes softer. 

Her impulse is to scoff at him and leave. To remove herself from the room before she caves into his tempting warmth - into whatever comfort he might offer. “You want to lay with someone who just attempted to choke the life from you?”

He’s flushed in the low light. “Well, you haven’t succeeded yet.”

A rather lame excuse leaves her mouth, “These bunks aren’t exactly made for two.”

It’s almost endearing, the way he blinks up at her and then shuffles back flat against the bunk wall, leaving a generous body’s width of room for her. He throws aside the blanket for her. They hold each other gazes for a tension filled moment. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but then again… 

“Come on, what are you afraid of?”

And because she’s definitely  _ not _ afraid, that’s how she finds herself nestled alongside the Jedi. He’s warm against her back and his breathing is unusually quiet, as though he is trying not to disturb her. Trilla closes her eyes and tries her best to relax. Her arm makes for a passable cushion, but she can tell from Kestis’s small movements behind her, that he isn’t entirely at ease. “Do you intend to fidget all night?”

He huffs and she feels the moist heat of it on the back of her neck. Trilla swallows hard at the sensation. This had been a  _ terrible _ idea. His arm comes to rest along hers above her head. The other hand gently lays at her hip. “Is this alright?” He murmurs. 

It was more than alright. 

“It’s better than sleeping on the floor of a cave.”

She feels his chuckle against her back. “Yeah, I agree.”

They lay like that for a time - their breathing evening and almost syncing up. Every so often, his fingers shift against her side, and she tenses, causing him to hold his breath until she relaxes again. Trilla has only just let her eyes slip shut, when he inhales as though he might speak, but he doesn’t. 

Her voice comes out sharper than she intends. She hadn’t realized how on edge she was. “What is it?” 

His knee brushes the back of hers. “I was thinking.”

“That sounds perilous.” She remarks dryly. 

“Ha. Ha.” He pokes her in the ribs lightly. Trilla sputters in indignation at the bold familiarity of the action. “Not as perilous as sleeping in the same room as you, apparently.”

She doesn’t make comment on that. “Are you going to tell me what you were thinking about, or must I guess?”

He shifts against her. The heat of his hand is a brand over the sliver of skin exposed between the bottom of her shirt and the waistband of her pants. Trilla struggles not to imagine his calloused hands roaming her bare body unhindered… 

“I was thinking of you.” The way he says it, voice low and earnest, causes Trilla to cease breathing. 

Her cheeks heat against her will. It’s not a feeling she is used to. “Oh?”

“I was remembering something.” He somehow feels even closer now. His hips are nearly flush with her backside. She can’t decide if she wants to jump out of the bed or press herself back against him. “About the crash.”

Trilla did not expect him to say that. She looks over her shoulder, catching his eye, “What about it?”

“I should have suffered worse than a fractured leg.”

She clenches and unclenches her jaw, quickly turning away from him again. “Those strong in the Force can be surprisingly resilient in body—“

“Trilla.”

It had been nothing. It was something she’d done almost instinctively. “I may have… used the Force to soften the impact for you.”

“I knew it.”

“It means—“

“Nothing? Yeah, well, I don’t agree.”

Trilla is tired of dancing around this. She rolls over to face him, propping her head up on her hand, “Just say what you mean, Kestis.”

He drags his bottom lip through his teeth. She swallows hard at the sight. He whispers, “You could have protected yourself instead. But you chose me.”

Trilla takes a slow, deep breath, “I suppose I did.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t going to let a prisoner such as yourself die so easily.” It was the truth, though not the entirety of it. 

His nose scrunches in puzzlement, “With the holocron in your possession, how valuable could I have been?”

Maybe he doesn’t see it. Or, maybe he does and he doesn’t know if he should believe it. Not after how she’d treated him. “Have I not proven your worth to me?” She murmurs. 

His eyes betray his uncertainty. “Do you still hate me?”

She hears echoes of the spiteful words she’d thrown in his face these last weeks. Could she say she still felt the same as she had in those moments?

She couldn’t. 

“I don’t know.”

His smile is a somber one, “That’s an improvement, I guess.”

Trilla itches to close the minimal space between them and take that pouting mouth of his once more. No matter how much she denied it, she truly did want to repeat the experience. Even if it went against every excuse she’d given him. At one time, it had seemed logical and advantageous to deny him more than what she’d given him in that hot spring. She’d even tried to claim it was a mistake...

Except it wasn’t. 

They both knew it wasn’t. 

“This is foolish.” She sighs.

“What is?”

“ _ This _ .” Trilla touches his chest with an open palm, “This is.”

“Us?” His eyes are too raw and open for her to hold his gaze. 

Her voice strains to remain level as she insists, “It would end catastrophically. These things always do.”

He seems to consider her words very carefully, and in turn, his own. “I think my life is fated to end catastrophically, whether you’re in it or not.”

Her eyes sting at his words, “It’s not worth the pain.”

She feels a thumb caress her cheek, “How do you know?”

Everyone she’d ever given a part of herself to had taken that bit of her to their graves or had cast it aside as though it had meant nothing to them. Each lost piece left a vacuum inside her - like many black holes riddling her soul. She would never be whole again, she knows. 

But, despite her attempts to dissuade him these past days, she knows it’s too late to reclaim what she’s already let him have of her. “I would ruin you.”

His touch falls from her cheek and down her arm, where he laces his fingers through hers. Trilla wonders if any of this contact is difficult for him. His psychometry had seemed to be more under control these past days. It was a curious thing. He squeezes her hand and brings it up to his lips. His breath is hot on her skin, “I think you already have.”

“No.” Her eyes travel his features, lingering on the various scars, “No, you could escape this. You could let go. And… you should.”

He frowns, “Trilla… I chose this. And so did you.”

_ This. This. This _ .

What was this?

‘This’ is the lump in her throat. It’s the fire burning low in her body. It’s the way her heart picks up pace when she thinks of him. It’s the force that drew them together in the first place. ‘This’ is everything she’s never really had and knows she has no right to want. 

They are on a precipice, looking over the edge together into the unknown. Two souls inconsequential in the grand fabric of it all meeting and deciding they don’t want to be apart. They only needed to admit it to one another. They only needed to step off that ledge together. 

It’s as if he’s leaning out, ready to freefall, and she’s tightening her grip on him, heels digging in, holding them both back. 

_ Not just yet _ ...

“You want a version of me that simply does not exist.” She tries to adopt an aloof tone, but it is hard when she is so intimately close to him, “You don’t know all that I’ve done. You don't know the blood I’ve spilled—“

“Prauf.” He interrupts, eyes looking down at their joined hands resting between their faces. “He was my friend. I… I think his is the only life you’ve taken that I need to know about.” His gaze is resolute, “I want you, in spite of it. Whether or not I should.”

Trilla is exasperated and more than a little flustered by such a candid declaration. “You’re a fool.”

“So you’ve said.” He sighs, seeming to be just as tired of her stubbornness as she is of his. 

An uncomfortable silence settles over them. They avoid each other’s eyes. There is so much she could say, but her concern is that if she does confess as he had, that she might say too much. They might finally step off that cliff into something they can’t come back from.

She might just kiss him. 

So she holds her tongue. Again. 

After a time, he asks her if she wants to show him the memory that caused her to attack him, but she declines. She’s had enough of people other than herself being in her mind. 

Kestis retains his grip on her hand, and she is content to allow him that much. She’s not sure which of them falls asleep first, but when slumber takes her this time, she thankfully does not dream of anything. Nothing of her own imagining nor of Vos’s troubled past. Her mind is blissfully quiet. 

And she sleeps deeper than she has in years. 

——

A single incredulous beep rudely draws Trilla to wakefulness. She cracks an eye open to realize her cheek is pressed against Kestis’s firm shoulder. He must have moved to lay on his stomach sometime in the night and as a result, Trilla had ended up laying half atop him - an arm slung over his back and a leg draped across his. The casual intimacy of the position isn’t lost on her. He doesn’t seem to mind her pinning him down as he grumbles into his arm, “BD-1… shhh…”

“Beeeoop doo bwoo bee!?”

Trilla turns to raise a brow at the little droid, but Kestis has a more…  _ animated _ reaction to the droid’s rather intrusive query. He sits up in a hurry, essentially pushing her off of him in his panic and nearly smacking his head on the bunk above, “No! No, we  _ didn’t! Nothing _ happened!”

“Boo dee dwoo!”

Trilla smothers a smirk as she listens to the Jedi struggle for words. He was so easy to embarrass. “Look, we just… This is— It’s not a big deal, okay?”

“Doo dwoop  _ beep _ .” It disagrees colorfully. 

The Jedi splutters, “ _ BD-1! _ ”

She can’t hold back a laugh, or rather, a snort of amusement at their exchange. “Your droid is quite outspoken.” 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into it!”

Trilla stifles a yawn as she stretches herself along the length of his body, causing him to tense. She muffles small sounds of relief as her joints pop. The shoulder she’d slept on through the night is a bit stiff so she sits up and rolls her shoulders back. “It only seems to have your best interest in mind. Protection  _ is _ important.”

Kestis stares at her from his place between her and the wall. He’s pulled his knees up to his chest and he’s watching her with wide eyes. His cheeks are rosy, “Yeah, I know. I mean, I’ve been told.”

His hair is a glorious disaster. Fluffy and errant. She can’t resist reaching out to brush stray strands back from his face, dragging her digits through the soft red locks. He closes his eyes, clearly enjoying it. The pads of her fingers linger against his scarred cheek as she draws them back slowly. She doesn’t know what’s come over her. She clears her throat and swings her legs off the bunk. “We need to get up, Kestis. Before we do something… regrettable.”

His throat works as his gaze drops to her mouth, “I haven’t regretted a thing yet.”

Trilla rolls her eyes at that. “The key word being  _ ‘yet’ _ . Don’t be getting used to this.” She gestures between them. 

“Admit it, you liked sleeping next to me.”

“It was an experience I am not in a hurry to repeat. You are far too warm for me.”

“Hey! Wait!”

Despite his protest, she extracts herself from their shared warmth. She misses it immediately. 

Oh yes, if they made this a habit, she was most certainly in trouble.

=+=

To anyone else, Trilla might seem her usual aloof and vitriolic self.

But to Cal, she is brighter than he’s ever seen her.

The morning has been awkward, to say the least, but Cal has witnessed her smile twice. Both genuine expressions. Once when he’d mistakenly put his vest on backwards while watching her wriggle back ll into his poncho, and another when he brought food to her in the cockpit. They were small, subtle upturns of her lips, but they fed the hope he held out for her.

The previous night had been a turning point of sorts, he thinks. One of many that were steadily carrying them closer and closer to something that he’s never had before, but he knows he wants. It’s similar to the warmth of a sun on skin, or the weightless sensation of a fall, or even that brief, primal moment of satisfaction during a kill. 

Sleeping beside her had felt as natural as breathing. If he was honest with himself, it had felt that way even when they laid near each other in that cavern on Onveon. Despite all the tension between them at that time, he had always slept soundly at her side. He’d trusted her in his most vulnerable moments. Whether he’d realized it at the time or not. 

Cal unconsciously touches his throat. It still feels tender where she’d gripped it so viciously. When he’d been startled awake by her sudden violence, Cal had nearly reached for his weapon. It was her agonized sobs and tortured, unseeing eyes, that had halted the reflex. He’d taken her wrists and done his best to relieve the weight on his neck. She had been muttering darkly about lies and deception under her breath before she came to. 

He hadn’t needed her to tell him why she’d done it. It was obvious that Vos’s memories were steadily affecting her in more and more dramatic ways. 

He only wishes he knew how to help her. 

“We’re going to drop out of hyperspace in a few minutes.” Trilla clips her seat restraints over her chest and he does the same. “The thrusters are as equalized as the battle droid and I could get them. Hopefully our approach won’t look too ungainly. We don’t want any questions at the platform.”

Cal nods and considers what they are about to do. Nest had given them very little information about the subject of their rescue mission. “Have you wondered who this Jedi could be?”

The former Inquisitor leans back in her chair, staring out the star streaked viewport. The soft blue and white glow casts a cool hue across the dark tones of her features. “There is a very short list of known survivors. You were not on that list until very recently.” She glances at him, “There are likely others presumed dead that escaped. So… I cannot really postulate a guess.”

“Wait.” He swivels his seat towards her. “Who else is alive then?”

Trilla’s shoulders fall visibly and she looks away again, “I should not tell you.”

He blinks in confusion, “Why not?”

“It would give you misplaced hope.”

He doesn’t understand how knowing would be to his detriment. “Please, tell me.”

She stays quiet for a long moment, before she says in what sounds like a reluctant tone, “If we succeed in rescuing this Jedi, I’ll tell you what I can.” 

“Fine.” He could wait. 

They exit hyperspace without incident. The descent into the dirty atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa is also uneventful. The city world reminds him of the worst parts of Coruscant. The flashing, floating light boards and busy sky lanes illuminate the towering buildings and the deep dark of the lower levels. It is a world ruled by crime lords and inhabited by the lawless and desperate. 

This is the first heavily populated planet he’s been to in years. The Force is loud here. He turns inward on himself, focusing on his breathing and shoring up his mental defenses. He feels Trilla - a constant pressure beside him. He wonders if she is as sensitive to the planet as he, or if she is simply better at muting the background noise that millions of lifeforms project through the Force.

She guides the  _ Arcanis _ to a landing platform extending from a large building complex. A few other ships dot the deck, but there is still sufficient room to land. Trilla receives a prompt ‘all clear’ from the platform official over the comm when she requests permissions. Cal bites the inside of his cheek as they touch down gently. 

Something doesn’t feel right. 

“It’s not too late.” Trilla flicks various switches and turns certain dials as she powers down the ship. 

He unclips himself from his chair, “To do what?”

“To abandon this idiotic endeavor.”

Cal notes the visible tension in her body. He feels the same in his own. “We’re here now. I won’t leave this Jedi to suffer. Not when I have the ability to help them.”

“We can’t be sure this isn’t an elaborate trap.” Trilla stands and subtly pats the hip her saber is fixed to. The faint outline of it prints through his poncho she wears. “Nest could very well be selling us out.”

“I doubt it. She and her crew are enemies of the Empire.” Cal checks the satchel at his waist. The holocron is secure within. He is still warring with himself over whether or not he should keep it on his person. “I’ve met freedom fighters like her.”

Trilla scoffs, “Like your partisan friends on Kashyyyk? What could they do in the end besides liberate a few dozen Wookiees? Their actions are like a single drop of water in a desert.  _ Meaningless _ .”

And just like that, Cal is reminded of exactly who it is that he has chosen to care so deeply for. “It’s not meaningless. They’ve brought hope to people by showing that the Empire isn’t all powerful. That there’s ways to fight back.” He tries not to feel discouraged by her cynicism, “That’s why helping this Jedi is important, Trilla. The information they’ve given the Cloud-Riders has been invaluable—“

“Only if what that woman claims is true.” She waves a hand dismissively as he opens his mouth to protest, “I will not quarrel uselessly with you about it. You can hold onto your delusions. I am here for  _ you _ , not this Jedi and certainly not for Nest... So, let us just get this over with.”

Cal doesn’t argue with her, but he hopes one day she can see the worth in standing up to the tyranny and terror of the Empire. She’d already done so for her own sake. 

They task Rod with guarding the ship as best it can - even making sure it can hail them over their comlinks if anything might go wrong. And vice versa. At Cal’s suggestion, they break into the former bounty hunter’s weapon locker. Cal takes a sidearm and Trilla slings a blaster rifle over her shoulder. They would need to at least look the part if they were going to present themselves as bounty hunters to Grakkus the Hutt. As they exit the  _ Arcanis _ , BD-1 scrambles onto Trilla’s shoulder, clinging to the back of the poncho that is quickly becoming more hers than his. She grumbles and snarks at the droid. It responds in kind - a friendly bickering. 

Cal lingers on the gangway a moment. His feet feel rooted to the ramp. He wants to dismiss his hesitation as nervousness, but he hardly ever feels this anxious - even when he’s about to jump into the chaos of a battle.

He touches the intricate edges and fractals of Cordova’s holocron. He doesn’t remember putting his hand in the satchel at his hip. A sense of foreboding creeps upon him. Sharply, he sucks in a breath. “I… I’ll be right there.” Briefly, he catches a glimpse of puzzlement on Trilla’s face before he rushes back to the crew quarters. It takes a minute before he’s satisfied with his task, but when he walks out, his anxiety has subsided considerably. 

This was right. 

Trilla doesn’t comment on his odd behavior, but he does notice that she is walking a bit closer to him than she ever had before. He could reach out and brush his fingers against hers  _ so _ easily— 

“Hey! You two!” A burly Twi’lek clad in armor and strapped to the teeth in an assortment of weaponry intercepts them as they approach the main entrance. “Are you expected?”

To Cal’s surprise, Trilla immediately squares up with the Twi’lek, hands on her hips. “You mean you don’t already know? What would the great Grakkus say if I told him his guards were incapable of being aware of the most basic information? We hailed you well before landfall!” She rolls her eyes and looks at Cal, “Is it just me, or has the security gotten abysmal around here lately?”

“Uhh…” Cal straightens up to his full height and nods, “Yeah. I’d say so.”

“W-Wait! I’m sure this is just a mistake. Let me see…” The guard makes a show of checking his datapad, “Aha! The  _ Arcanis _ , is it? Yes, yes, you bounty hunters are known to Grakkus. Please, enter.”

Cal raises a brow at Trilla, who offers him a small, self satisfied shrug. She obviously didn’t find it all that odd to be so easily admitted. Still, something didn’t sit right with him. The great doors before them, carved with elaborate patterns and reinforced with banded metal, slide aside with a hiss. They step through into a tall corridor. It is aglow in dim yellow lighting and lined with shadowy alcoves. Not all, but some of them are occupied by sharp eyed individuals. The hair on the back of his neck raises with the knowledge that they have clear shots at his back as he passes them. He is ready to react if necessary. 

They come to the large atrium Nest had told them about. The large glass roof reveals the busy cityscape high above. BD-1 beeps it’s fascination. They are approached by more guards and promptly divested of their blasters and told to wait their turn for an audience with Grakkus. It gives Cal the opportunity to passively observe the space. Many people mill about the large room. Mostly armed guards and tired servants, but the occasional well dressed being accompanied by a suggestively clad entourage denotes someone of particular importance. They all eventually make their way to the far side of the room and through a set of heavy looking wooden doors ordained with the same carvings as the main entrance ones. It is obvious that Grakkus’s throne room lays beyond. Cal can sense as much with his nose as he can with the Force. Everytime the doors swing open, a great waft of putridity drifts out into the round court. Servants rush to stoke portable pots of incense and wave them about anyone exiting the dark, foul room. A pinkish haze engulfs the outgoers. They seem grateful even as they cough through the cloud.

“Do you feel anything?” Trilla says under her breath as they are finally called towards the throne room. 

Cal takes one last breath of mostly pure air before they pass into the dimly lit space. “All I feel is nauseous.”

He catches her shaking her head out of the corner of his eye, a thin smile on her lips. “Understandable.”

Nausea aside, Cal perceives fear in nearly every life form in the room. Many of whom he cannot see for the thick haze of incense being burned close to the throne itself. He senses stress and exhaustion and anxiety. He doesn’t really blame them.

Grakkus the Hutt is a terrible sight to behold.

The imposing mass of sentient flesh is perched upon a raised platform. Opulent fabrics and cushions surround him along with vats of inhalable substances of questionable origin. His wide maw is split in a grin so terrible it sends a shiver of trepidation down Cal’s spine. He has never seen a Hutt in person. Much less one who’s body is supported upon insect-like metal ‘legs’. Obviously, they made him far more mobile than the rest of his kind, who had to drag themselves across the ground to get anywhere. The Hutt wipes a stubby hand across his front, jostling a necklace of sorts that is draped over his neck.

Trilla stiffens beside him. Cal struggles not to show his shock.

Lightsabers. The necklace is a long strange of lightsabers hanging limp against the Hutt’s mottled green flesh. At least a dozen. The kyber crystals within them project something that can only be described as mourning. All without their masters. None to ever be held by capable hands again.

Nest had warned them that Grakkus had an interest in Jedi, but Cal hadn’t expected  _ this _ . His own saber burns against his back where he’d secured it beneath his vest. 

“Ah, what brings hunters from the Brood to me so soon?” Grakkus rumbles, “Are you here to compensate me for the loss of the pirate Hondo Ohnaka?”

_ Wait… What? _

Cal suddenly recalls what Hondo had told him of his capture. How he’d struck a deal with a Hutt on Nar Shaddaa before being taken by the Haxion Brood hunters… Great. Of course the pirate’s troubles would follow them here. 

He steps forward and subtly holds a hand out behind him in an attempt to put Trilla at ease. She scoffs quietly at the action. “We were unaware of your association with Ohnaka when we collected him, great one. But we are here to offer our services to you without fee as penance for this grievous misstep.”

“Ahaha!” The Hutt laughs and the finely crafted weapons at his throat jangle together, creating a sound cringeworthy to the ears. “The pirate was merely an amusement to me! He was a fool! One who thought he could serve me in exchange for something without definable value! I mourn only the loss of his pitiful begging and foolish hope.”

This was not how Hondo had described his relationship to Grakkus. Cal had been under the impression that it had been a beneficial relationship he’d had with the Hutt. Something wasn’t adding up. “Even still, we would attempts to make it right with your venerance.”

Grakkus hums as he considers them. Cal does not like the way he is being studied. He feels dirty under the Hutt’s large, pale yellow eyes. Behind him, BD-1 warbles softly from where it clings to Trilla’s shoulder. Cal hears Trilla shushing the worried droid.

“Fine. I will find a task for you that will absolve you of your affront.” Grakkus declares in his deep, sinister tone, “But you will forever be beholden to the Hutt Clan first and foremost. Sorc Tormo will accept this condition.”

Cal bows low, “Of course, mighty Grakkus. Your terms are more than fair.”

And with that, they are promptly dismissed from the Hutt’s presence. As they pass back out of the room, a cloud of pink surrounds them causing Cal to choke on the thick perfume. Trilla sneezes. 

“This way, please.” A female Rodian purrs as they shuffle from the fog, “Lord Grakkus has extended an invitation to you for the great feast he is hosting tonight. You will be accommodated in the guest wing until that time.”

“Why?” Trilla demands, rubbing at her nose. “Are we required to attend?”

The Rodian seems uneasy as she explains, “It would be...  _ unwise _ to refuse such an invitation.”

Cal cuts in. “We understand.” He looks meaningfully at Trilla. She doesn’t appear happy, but doesn’t offer any further comment. This could work out to their advantage. They had more time to find their quarry now.

The room they are led to is unexpectedly large. It’s living area opens onto a balcony overlooking the city. Not the most beautiful view, but impressive in its own right. Night is fast falling. The world’s setting star casts a reddish glow into the room. “You are to remain here until summoned.” The servant instructs, “If you require anything, please use the communication terminal provided.”

As soon as they are alone, Trilla moves through the rooms like a shadow, silent and focused. Cal lingers at the wide windows, letting her clear the suite to her satisfaction. She finally stops behind him, frustration clear in her voice, “This is  _ definitely _ a trap. Your droid and I couldn’t find even one surveillance device. They clearly don’t care about what we do in here.”

It was definitely suspicious. Cal drags a hand through his hair, “Okay. So, we’ll be patient. We’ll go to the feast and try to get more of an idea of where the Jedi is being held, and… and then we’ll go from there.”

“That’s an atrocious plan.” Trilla paces the room, “We need more information.  _ Now _ .”

Cal takes a seat on the floor, closing his eyes to the visible world around him, “The Force will guide us.”

“I highly doubt that.” She grumbles. He listens to her pace a while longer, her rhythmic steps are a contrasting cadence to the beat of his heart. Soon, he has slipped into a meditative space.

There, he focuses on letting the energy around him move through and within him at it’s own will. The Force is still tumulus here, but he concentrates on letting it’s nature teach him, rather than influence him. It’s not easy, but he manages it by slowly letting go of his own doubts and anxiety. 

_ ‘Trust only in the Force.’ _

He perceives a spark, a flare of light in the peripheral of the peaceful space he’s cultivated within him. It startles him so much he almost falls out of his meditation. He tries to fixate on it, but it’s fading fast. 

_ Who are you? _

There is no response, but Cal feels he has gained the knowledge he’s meant to. He opens his eyes to a dark room. Momentarily, he’s disorientated. How much time had passed? “Trilla?”

“Here.” Her rich timbre comes from somewhere else in the suite.

He finds her in the bedroom, seated in the middle of the large mattress, the comm terminal cradled in her lap. BD-1 is powered down nearby, the lights atop it’s ‘head’ pulse to indicate it is charging. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve hacked into a patrol frequency.” Trilla holds up a finger for silence as a crackling voice comes from the unit. It’s in Huttese. She pushes her hair behind her ear and purses her lips in clear frustration, “I just can’t make out what they are saying.”

“You didn’t take the languages course as a youngling?” Cal frowns as he moves onto the incredibly soft bed to settle next to her - his shoulder nearly touching hers. A knee bumps against her crossed one. 

He thinks she is too busy looking insulted by his words to care about his close proximity. “I did! I just didn’t keep in practice after completing the requirement.” 

“I possess a skill that Trilla Suduri does not?” He teases her, “Maybe you weren’t the perfect student after all?”

Trilla gives him a withering look and gestures at the device, “Gloating does not suit you,  _ padawan _ . Just translate for me.”

He obliges, but not before leaning in to rest his shoulder against hers just enough that it couldn’t be misconstrued as an accident. 

At first she stiffens at the contact, but gradually she presses back. They keep focused on collecting as much information as possible from the communications they intercept, but every so often, Cal tips his face towards hers. He likes to follow the line of her profile with his eyes. Eventually, she seems to have had enough of his not-so-subtle staring. 

“Why not take a holo? It’ll last longer.” She quips as she continues to cycle through the frequencies. 

He replies reflexively, “It wouldn’t do you justice.”

Trilla’s brow furrows and she slowly turns to him. Her lips tip down in the smallest frown, “You are not serious.”

He is confused by her disbelief. “I am serious.”

“I’m not—“

“You’re beautiful.”

She truly is. Now, with her features softened by the gentle lighting in the bedroom, and when he’d first looked upon her harrowed face in that cold Zeffo excavation site. In her fury or in her sorrow, when she’s smiling and when she’s not… the sight of her is breathtaking. He’d always assumed she was aware of her own attractiveness from how she interacted with him, but the expression on her face tells him that maybe he is wrong. 

He notices her swallow, the fine skin of her throat palpating with the action. “How could you think so?”

His fingers tremble as they go to cup her cheek. She is watching him, frozen, barely breathing. His heart pounds. They are so very close… “How could I not?”

Her expression is almost pained, “Cal—”

It’s his name, murmured like a prayer on her lips that finally brings him in. His mouth cants over hers in a soft press. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, since last time she’d be the one to take the lead, so he simply trusts his instincts. His hand slips to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her silken hair. He feels her hands mirror his. Her nails drag mercilessly across his nape, pulling at his hair. A hiss parts his lips, but he finds it a good sort of pain. Her tongue dips into his open mouth, deepening the kiss, stealing his breath. Quickly, she is taking control, and he finds that he doesn’t mind at all. A hand at his chest pushes him to lay back and he obeys. 

Looking up at Trilla from his position beneath her, he admires her mussed hair and ruddy lips. “I meant it.”

“What you said about me, the kiss, or both?” She hovers over him, fingers lightly caressing the various scars across his face.

He shivers at the simple contact. “All of it.”

For once, she seems remorseful. “You’re far more honest than I have been. With you or myself.”

Cal had felt so frustrated with her and her denial of him, of  _ them _ , but now he can only pity her. It is clear to him that her rejection hadn’t ever been born of malice or cruelty. “Searching for the truth is easy. Accepting the truth is hard.” He smirks and gives a small shrug, “Or so I once heard someone wiser than me say.” 

“Ugh.” Trilla moves to lay beside him. “It was probably someone who sat on a cushion all day and wore ugly robes.”

Cal snorts, nodding at the ceiling, “Yeah, it was.”

“I  _ hated _ those robes.”

“They were kinda awful, weren’t they?” He rolls onto his side towards her. 

She waves a hand emphatically, “Dull, ill fitting, and somehow never warm enough  _ or _ cool enough for the environment you were in!”

“Tell me how you really felt.” He says with a dry smirk. 

Trilla gives him a look, “It would take  _ days _ .”

He laughs and she cracks a small grin. 

Only a few minutes later they are called upon for the feast. As they leave, Cal finds himself considering the far more interesting ways they might have used that bed.

If only they’d had more time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is like the calm before the storm...
> 
> if you wanna yell about caltrilla with me, i’m on twitter: @acosmiclove


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize in advance for what is about to happen.

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

The ‘feast’ Grakkus the Hutt hosts is really just a loud, chaotic party of sorts.

At least a hundred colorful guests mill about the great hall and the large tables set up to seat them all. Slowly, most of them end up making their way to the large stage set up in front of the entrance to the throne room. Grakkus is sat upon it, gorging himself on the finest foods in between greeting those that dare to approach him. A few unlucky beings end up getting dragged away for one reason or another, screaming apologies as Grakkus guffaws in sick amusement. Cal wonders what they had done to merit their forcible removal. And where they would be taken. Likely nowhere nice. 

Trilla is seated to his right, looking more composed than anyone else in the room. Her back straight, chin up, and eyes clear. She commands attention with her very presence - and as such, she’s already scared off a few brave propositions with a stern glance. The only one she softens for is him. He likes it that way. 

Cal brushes against her presence in the Force. Her head turns slightly, “What?”

“Have you noticed anything?”

She smirks and takes stock of the room, “Well,  _ yes _ . There have been at least six public sex acts performed in the last hour, and I am certain that two people have died since this revelry began - it’s just that no one has noticed yet.” A nod to her right, “And that Quarren down there? He has a vibroblade in his possession. I believe he is plotting against his Mon Cala friend across from him.”

Cal is still recovering from the first bit of information she’d imparted. “I haven’t seen anyone p-performing—“

Her lips part in a grin, “Oh, I’m not surprised.”

He turns to her more fully, resting an elbow on the table and narrowing his eyes at her striking profile, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

She looks down her nose at him, “You are…” Her words trail off as she seems to search for the right word, “... _ unfledged _ .”

Cal stares far too long at her trying to wrap his mind around just what she was insinuating. He flushes as it dawns on him, “How do you know that?”

“Hm, am I wrong?” Trilla leans into his space, so that her words are for him and him alone. “Have you ever had  _ relations _ with anyone, Cal Kestis?”

Heat gathers low in him at her suggestive tone. His body remembers how close they’d been in the guest room just a short time ago, and earlier that morning in his bunk. Their kiss still feels fresh on his lips. He takes a shaky breath, “No.”

“As I suspected.” She smirks and picks up her drink. She sniffs it, scrunches her nose at the smell, and sets it back down, “You see that man sitting at the far table? The one in green?”

Cal follows her line of sight to see the aforementioned human. He appears unfocused, mouth slightly parted. “Yes?”

“He is being  _ serviced _ beneath the table.” 

Cal chokes on air as the man’s strange expression suddenly makes sense. He averts his eyes, “Oh.”

Trilla laughs.

He manages a thin smile, a little annoyed that her mirth is at the expense of his inexperience, “What about you?”

She falls abruptly silent, the amusement quickly fading from her face, “Me?”

“Have you been with someone, uhm… intimately?” He flushes at his own forwardness.

Trilla licks her lips and nods once, looking down into her full glass, “Yes.”

He frowns at her pensive expression, “And?”

“And it was wholly unremarkable. Which is more common of an experience than you might expect.” She drums her fingers against the table, “It isn’t universally enjoyable.”

Cal pokes at the food in front of him. This isn’t quite what he imagined them talking about at the dinner table of Grakkus the Hutt. Well, he’d never imagined being in such a situation anyway, but  _ still _ . “I guess it depends who you do it with?” He suggests quietly. 

“Perhaps so.” Trilla meets his gaze, a dry smile on her lips, “You can’t tell me you never had the opportunity on Bracca?”

He’d been approached a few times. The scrap yards were cold and lonely. It was common for scrappers to hookup. On several occasions, he’d come across amorous couples intertwined in the guts of a wreck. Once, he’d even been asked to join in. But, despite his curiosity, he’d always refused. Maybe it was the Code or maybe it was the fear of getting too close to someone, but he hadn’t ever been tempted enough to give in.

That didn’t mean he didn’t deal with his needs. He just found a quiet space and time to do that. Alone. 

_ The last time you did, you were thinking of her.. _ .

“I could have, but I didn’t.”

She seems satisfied with his answer, or perhaps she is unsurprised, “How very Jedi-like.”

Impulsively, he wants to object to that. He wants to let her know that if she wanted to be with him that way, that he would agree. That he wanted it too. But the words are stuck on his tongue and he’s not sure how to properly convey them. He suspects she already knows, given their increased closeness as of late, but how does one tell their freshly former enemy that they would like to know them in one of the most intimate ways possible?

_ You don’t. Especially not in a situation such as this. Not when there’s a Hutt drooling over a roasted gizka at the other end of the table _ .

He sighs internally and pulls his attention back to the crowd around him. Grakkus is holding up a hand and requesting silence. The guests promptly quiet down. The Hutt rises on his mechanical legs and addresses the room, “Let it be known that I, Grakkus Jahibakti Tingi, throw the greatest feasts in the Outer Rim!”

The room erupts in claps and cheers. Cal follows suit and nudges Trilla to do the same. She sighs dramatically and slowly claps. 

“But! The night is not over yet, my friends! Many of you are aware of my appreciation for a now extinct organization.” He gestures at the string of sabers hanging around his neck, “It is no secret that I enjoy a  _ sizable _ collection of Jedi artifacts. And tonight, I will show you some of my most prized possessions among the lot!”

As if on queue, an entourage of servants guides several floating pallets into the center of the room. When they pull off the canvas covering them, they reveal a shocking sight.

At least a dozen holocrons sit inert on one cart, while another contains racks of staffs and various other kyber powered weapons that Cal is not familiar with. The final floating platform contains a cage.

Inside is a woman.

And from her Cal feels that same light he’d seen in his meditation. 

This was her. The Jedi they’d come for.

Trilla sighs wearily and finally sips from her cup. “Well, isn’t that convenient? They brought her to us.”

Cal stops himself from instinctively reaching out to the young woman through the Force. She looks so small, curled up at the bottom of the cage. At a rather violent shock from an electro-prod by a guard, she cries out in pain and throws herself to the far bars. “ _ S-Stop! _ ”

Trilla drains her drink and reaches for his untouched one. “Great. She’s just a  _ girl _ .”

A Tholothian girl, Cal observes as passively as he can as she is harassed into standing. It’s hard to watch. She hugs her arms around herself, hunched over in visible pain. Grakkus laughs heartily, “I recently acquired this rare specimen! She is not much to look at, but she could very well be one of the last Jedi in existence!” Grakkus waves dramatically, “Behold, the extent of her power!”

A Twi’lek servant takes a holocron from the stack and carries it to the prisoner. She holds it out to her, saying something Cal can’t hear. The battered Jedi’s shoulders slump and she nods, taking the holocron between the bars. Cal watches in horror as she concentrates to open the cube. It opens with a dazzling display of light and it reveals the form of a Jedi - one that he, Trilla, and the young woman all knew well.

The blue holographic form of Grand Master Yoda offers a greeting and begins speaking, waxing poetic in his unique speech pattern about the role of a Jedi Knight and how important it was to be properly prepared, in body and in mind for the trials ahead. He refers to the trials a padawan would need to face to become a fully fledged Jedi. In the shimmering light of the hologram, Cal can see tears streaming down the dark face of the young woman. His own heart aches to see and hear the ancient Jedi. Master Yoda had had a hand in teaching every youngling to pass through the Temple for several hundreds years at least. He’d been a kind and good teacher, if not a little eccentric at times.

“How pathetic.” Trilla mutters darkly. “Giving up such knowledge to this slug so easily.”

Cal clenches his jaw, “Don’t judge her. We don’t know what she’s been through.”

“It cannot be worse than what I faced.” She snaps back, “This Hutt values her life. They’ve likely starved her and kept her in the dark, occasionally taking her out for some light torture and to coerce her to perform various Force abilities. That’s all.”

He is unsettled by Trilla’s cold assessment. “All the more reason to get her out of here.” 

“Sure.” She checks the time, “The next shift change should happen soon. As soon as Grakkus leaves, we can make a move.”

BD-1 warbles from it’s perch on Cal’s shoulder and then Rod’s tinny voice comes through the comm piece in Cal’s ear. Trilla sits up straighter as she too, receives the same communication. “Ehh, Inquisitor, there’s a problem…”

They really needed to correct Rod on how to address her now that she no longer served the Empire. 

“What is it?” Trilla snaps, looking down and away from the sight of the caged Jedi being forced to open yet another holocron to the collective amusement and awe of the crowd. 

“Well, it appears… Hey! You don’t have permission to board this ves—  _ Ah! _ ” The battle droid’s transmission ends abruptly.

Cal is unsettled. If someone had forced their way onto the  _ Arcanis _ , they could potentially find the holocron.  _ I should have kept it with me…  _ He dares not tell Trilla he’d left it behind. “What should we do?”

Trilla looks to BD-1, “Send your droid back out to the ship. It can report to us what it sees.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, but he was hesitant to part from his little companion. Cal reaches back to pat the metal housing of it’s ‘head’, “You up to do some scouting for us, buddy?”

The droid beeps a confident affirmative. 

“Okay, just stay out of sight. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.” He feels the droid scramble off his back. It slinks out of sight beneath the unassuming eyes of the drunken crowd. 

Grakkus seems to have grown tired of seeing holocrons opened. He orders the Jedi to be removed from her cage and brought before him. Cal winces when she stumbles to her knees. An electric shock between her shoulder blades motivates her back on her feet, but even as she comes to stand in front of the Hutt, she sways in visible exhaustion. The tendrils hanging down from the back of her head are limp and a sickly grey. Grakkus claps his hands, obviously pleased by her docility, “Haha! A once great warrior brought to heel! If I had a heel!”

The crowd bursts into raucous laughter. 

If she is as young as she looks, Cal figures she was a padawan like himself at the end of the war. He sympathizes with her. What was her survival story? How had she made it this far?

Grakkus chuckles and points directly at Cal and Trilla, “Look, Jedi, those bounty hunters there took the only hope of escape from you! That pirate of yours is not coming back!” He continues to laugh, “Not that I would have ever actually released you to him anyway!”

His words click something into place in Cal’s mind. So,  _ this _ was why Hondo had a deal with Grakkus. He was connected to the Jedi somehow. 

Cal can sense a shift in the room. The Tholothian has turned to look at him and her blue eyes are a cold heat on his skin. Her brow furrows. Her chin trembles. The Force is a gaping wound around her. Impulsively, he meets that hurt - to let her know that he’s not what he seems. The young woman’s eyes widen and in that same instant, Trilla takes Cal’s arm in a vice grip. “What do you think you’re doing?” She hisses in his ear. 

“It’s fi—“

A massive explosion from the direction of the entry corridor rocks the room. The glass ceiling shatters into a billion pieces. Knife-like shards rain down onto the crowd. 

Cal’s ears ring. He cannot hear the screams of the guests around him, but he can see well enough. The people closest to the explosion are lying in pools of blood - the living are scrambling away in any direction they can. Trilla drags him to the floor as a hail of blaster fire sweeps the hall. He feels her hand on the back of his head, forcing him lower to the floor sticky with spilled food and drink and other unmentionables. 

“—follow me!” He can finally hear Trilla ordering above the chaotic din. He does as he’s told, crawling and crouching after her. They weave their way through the frantic sea of wounded and frightened beings, towards where they’d last seen the Jedi.

They don’t have to go very far. The Tholothian girl practically trips right over Trilla in an attempt to flee the carnage. Trilla pulls her down, but when she tries to fight her, she is forced to subdue her. “Stop it!” 

Cal rushes to them, glancing over his shoulder as the fighting dies down. Through the haze of smoke and disturbed incense pots, he can make out the distinctive white armor of Imperial stormtroopers approaching. They are methodically executing survivors. “We need to get moving!”

“W-Who are you?” The young Jedi’s eyes are wild with terror. She takes heaving breaths - hyperventilating in Trilla’s tight grip.

“That’s not important right now.” Trilla releases her and motions Cal towards the throne room door.

Cal gently guides the girl forward, keeping as low and as silent as possible. “You need to trust us.”

The Jedi doesn’t answer, but she allows him to lead her just the same. Trilla takes up the rear - leaving Cal to figure out which way they needed to go to get out. The throne room is darker than it was earlier. There are no visible exits. Where had that slug gotten off to? He’d disappeared so quickly… Cal begins to suspect that not all is as it seems. His intuition brings him to a smooth wall, and with a subtle touch in the Force, he is able to trip a hidden mechanism inside and reveal a passageway undoubtedly constructed for quick escapes such as this. Perhaps Grakkus had used it just before them? 

“How very clever.” Trilla mutters.

Once inside, the three pause in the pitch dark tunnel to collect themselves. Cal frees his saber from beneath his vest and ignites it. “You’re—“ The young woman gasps, “You’re a Jedi too! I thought I felt  _ something… _ ”

“Nest sent us.” He explains, “I’m Cal and this is…” He hesitates at the surprisingly hard look in Trilla’s eyes, “...this is Trilla.”

“I’m Katooni.” She looks on the verge of tears, “I can’t begin to thank you—“

“Save your whimpering for later.” Trilla snaps and pushes past them both, “The Empire is here. They must know about you.”

“Or  _ us _ .” Cal swallows the dust that cakes his throat as he trudges after her, “That means we might be dealing with an Inquisitor, right?”

Katooni gasps behind him and he hears her stumble. Trilla‘s voice is tight and dispassionate, “Just be on guard.”

That sense of foreboding is back. 

=+=

The girl, Katooni, is as weak and insignificant as they come. How she’d managed to evade the Empire’s grasp for so long, Trilla has no idea. All she knows is that she despises her.

Kestis, of course, is being his usual compassionate self and making sure the young woman doesn’t fall behind. He’s offered his arm to her several times and each time he does, Trilla is sure to send a warning glare back at the Tholothian. She seems to get the idea and politely and tremulously, declines his help every time. Trilla smiles to herself. He was  _ hers _ .

“BD-1?” Kestis tries again to contact his droid. And again they get nothing but static. “C’mon… Where are you, little buddy?”

Trilla feels a twinge of regret for suggesting they send BD-1 off. The little droid had grown on her and she didn’t want to see it harmed. “Perhaps communications have been jammed?” She offers lamely, not normally one for comforting words or false hope. 

“Yeah, maybe.” Kestis doesn’t sound at ease, but he ceases trying to hail the droid. They finally exit the hidden passageway, coming out into a quiet corridor. Distantly, they hear commotion, but nothing near enough to them to be worrying. He powers down his saber. “We could have used that map right about now.”

“What Nest gave us wouldn’t have helped much.” Trilla glances back to the Tholothian, “Do you know how to get to the main platform from here?”

Katooni steps forward hesitantly and looks around the hall, “I think so, but it would just lead us right back to the Imperials.” She limps towards a turbo lift, “But if we take this down a level, I think there is a secondary platform below the main one. We might be able to make it up from there.”

Trilla looks to Kestis. He nods gravely. “If we can get out of here quietly, we should.”

In her opinion, it doesn’t really matter anymore. The Empire was surely here for them and would be ready to make it difficult to leave. She touches the rounded hilt guards of her lightsaber. 

She is ready. 

——

It was as Katooni had said. The turbo lift carries them down to an even quieter level of the complex and it isn’t long before they find the smaller landing area and are faced with a vertical climb up to the platform above that holds the  _ Arcanis _ and their freedom. Trilla takes the lead, with the Tholothian struggling just beneath her. Kestis covers them from below. She hears the other woman curse occasionally as she grapples to stay on the wall. Trilla glances down, noting that they have a long way to fall if either of them come off the building. Handholds are scarce. Their destination is still meters above them. When Katooni begins sucking in air in a panic, as she had back in the great hall, Trilla closes her eyes, trying not to feel too exasperated, “You need to clear your mind, girl.”

“I’m not a  _ youngling! _ ” Katooni snaps back, “I know what I must do!”

Trilla blinks in indignation at the wall in front of her as she pulls herself to the next hold, “Where was this fire when Grakkus had you opening holocrons like his trained pet?”

She doesn’t answer, but Trilla can sense the anger in the other woman. It’s refreshing. Vindicating. It’s what she’d expect from someone broken and beaten into a corner. Trilla is pretty sure someone would only need to push a little more to get her to betray her principles completely and tap into the darker side of herself. She’s tempted to be the catalyst. There was nothing quite like the sight of a Jedi breaking…

_ You don’t really want that though, do you? _

“You two okay up there?” Kestis’s voice comes over her comm. 

Trilla holds herself to the side of the building with the help of the Force and leans out a bit to look down at him, “We’re fantastic.” She smirks at Katooni’s flushed face immediately below her, “Isn’t that right,  _ girl? _ ”

“Fuck off.” 

Trilla raises a brow at such a crass retort. She adds to Kestis, “As soon as I make it onto the platform, start climbing.”

“Copy that.”

It’s several long minutes before she is finally pushing herself over the edge of the platform. A stack of crates conveniently obscures her from being out in the open, which is fortunate because when she peeks around the corner of the boxes, she is met with a troubling scene. 

Two Imperial patrol transports sit in the middle of the landing area. Beyond them, at the far end of the platform, the  _ Arcanis _ sits seemingly untouched. 

Just as Katooni scrambles up behind her, Trilla feels a cold vacuum in the Force. She shoves her down beside her, safely out of view, and clamps a hand over her mouth. They lock eyes. Trilla tries to convey the gravity of the situation with just a look. Katooni’s eyes widen and she nods. 

Her assumption had proven true, though it was worse than she’d imagined. Because they were not being hunted by one Inquisitor… but  _ two _ . 

The Fifth Brother’s heavy footfalls are not three meters from her. She pictures his lifeless features in her mind’s eye. He was not the most intelligent among the Inquisitorius, but he was one of strongest in terms of brute strength. She is sure she could take him alone, but therein lies the problem. 

He’s not alone. 

“We’ve swept the entire complex! They  _ have _ to be here somewhere!” The haughty echoey tone of the Seventh Sister whines, “That Hutt knew nothing… He is fortunate I left him with his life.”

“Indeed. It would not be wise to anger the Hutt clan further.” The Fifth Brother drones. “We’ve already overstepped our bounds by attacking this place.”

Seventh laughs, “What do you know of wisdom?!”

“I will let  _ you _ explain this to the Grand Inquisitor then.”

Trilla hears the Mirilian sniff, “When we have the Jedi, the traitor, and the holocron in hand, I’m sure our master will overlook the liberties we took here.”

“ _ If _ we succeed.”

A beep. Her comlink. 

“Trilla? What’s going on?”

_ Damn him…  _ Trilla hurriedly mutes the comm and holds her breath. Two long moments pass. She can feel Katooni’s shaky inhale against her palm. She can hear her own heart beating in her chest. 

_ What are you afraid of? You’ve bested them both before. You know their every weakness.  _

_ And they know mine _ . Trilla thinks of the young man climbing steadily up to her from below. The one that she had shared a kiss and two beds with just this day. She recalls how the heat of his body had melted away her worry and hurt the previous night, offering her a few, thankfully dreamless hours of rest. She knows she wasn’t deserving of such a comfort. But, stars, if she didn’t crave to experience it again. 

“Oh.  _ There _ you are.”

The next few moments are a blur, but when her mind catches up with her actions, Trilla is standing protectively over Katooni, sabers ignited and locked with Seventh’s, who had struck down on Trilla from atop the crates. 

“What a pleasant surprise it is to see you here,  _ traitor! _ ” Seventh grins manically, their crimson blades casting a bloody glow across her twisted features. 

“You’re one of them?!” Katooni cries out. 

Seventh laughs, “Oh? She doesn’t know?!”

This really isn’t the time to be discussing the details of her former and current allegiances. 

Trilla sends the stack of crates flying across the platform, causing Seventh to lose her balance and tumble to the ground. She gracefully recovers and rolls back into a defensive stance. Trilla notes how she glances over to the Fifth Brother, who is standing off to the side, arms crossed as he passively studies the situation. It is clear he is debating whether or not to intervene. Trilla sneers at him, “You’re as cowardly as ever, brother. Won’t you help your fellow Inquisitor?”

“I don’t need his assistance!” Seventh snaps, glaring between them, “I will deal with her myself, brother!”

Trilla grins and brandishes her lightsaber before her challengingly, “Will you?” She needs to goad them into action. To distract them from Kestis’s ascent and Katooni. “You’ve never once come close to besting me, what makes you think you’ll be able to now?”

“Oh, my dear… I’ve been preparing for this day.” A chill runs down her spine at the calm, knowing smile on Seventh’s lips. “Look at you, wearing  _ his _ clothes…” She points her saber at Trilla, “Have you had him? Tasted his flesh? Let him come inside you? How far have you fallen for that boy?”

Rationally, she knows what Seventh is trying to do. She’d just attempted to do the same. It is a common tactic - stoking anger in your opponent. The trouble is that it is working. Trilla squeezes the hilt of her saber tight, and even though she’s trying not to show it, she knows her irritation is plain to see. “Your jealousy is showing, Seventh.”

“Me? Jealous?” She taps her chin in mock thought, and then her eyes are drawn somewhere beyond Trilla, “Hmm, perhaps a bit. He’s certainly nice to look at.”

There is no need to turn and follow her gaze. Trilla knows Kestis is behind her. She can sense the tension coming off of him. Trilla takes a step back and shifts her stance into a guard, “Kestis?”

“Yeah?” He comes to stand at her right, his own lightsaber igniting with a satisfying double hiss.

Trilla glances back to see Katooni on her feet. They lock eyes. She realizes she can’t get a read on the girl’s emotions. It’s unsettling. She frowns and turns her attention back to Kestis, lowering her voice, “Get her to the ship. I’ll handle these two.”

“ _ No _ .”

Of course he would object. But, just this once, she wished he was a little less noble. If anyone wasn’t going to make it off this platform, it was going to be her. It was only right. 

The Fifth Brother seems to realize it would be remiss if he didn’t get involved now. His saber powers on as he stalks over to stand in Kestis’s way. The narrow window of time and space to get to the  _ Arcanis _ was waning. “Kestis, I am not asking, I am tell— ah!”

She has barely any time to buffer the Force push Seventh throws at her before the slighter woman is on her, blades spinning in a flurry of strikes so fast that Trilla is momentarily forced to retreat, dodging and ducking most of the attack. She catches glimpses of orange and red clashing beyond her own violent engagement, but can’t get a good view of how Kestis is fairing. 

_ He defeated the Ninth Sister. His prowess rivals yours. He is nowhere near to being out of his depth here. Focus on yourself. _

“How strange it is to see you so distracted,  _ Trilla _ .” Seventh scoops her blade beneath Trilla’s, forcing her to flash step back lest she be skewered. “Running away?”

“Your prattling betrays your fear.” She lets the Inquisitor come to her, “A lot hinges on the outcome of this battle for you, doesn’t it?”

That shuts her up. From then on, they only exchange blows. It’s clear to her that her opponent has improved since they last sparred. The woman is relentless, always moving, striking fast and light and then, when Trilla isn’t entirely expecting it, she bears down on her with a hit so heavy, Trilla’s arm shakes with the effort to block it. But it’s not that she is struggling against the Inquisitor, far from it, it’s just that she can’t seem to focus on  _ finishing _ her.

Not when she can hear Kestis floundering while the Fifth Brother mocks him.

Not when she hears Katooni scream.

Not when her heart is pounding out of her chest with an emotion she doesn’t at all enjoy being familiar with.

It’s an acidic taste on her tongue. A weight on her sternum. A tightness in her stomach. 

Kestis’s presence in the Force flares in alarm. 

Her worry is her undoing.

It was just a moment’s distraction. A small miscalculation. A foolish lapse in judgement.

Her lightsaber shatters in her hands. 

The unique circular guard is sheared in half and the hilt implodes on itself as Seventh’s blade cuts clean through the center - damaging irreparably the various perfectly fitted pieces inside. The crimson kyber within shivers a death knell in the Force. It’s dark and tortured presence falls silent cradled in her now bloody palms.

It’s such a shock, that for a long moment, Trilla cannot believe it happened at all. Seventh seems to be just as stunned, because she doesn’t immediately make a move either. She simply gapes at her own handiwork. The shock passes quickly enough though, because Trilla is soon forced to evade arcing slices and stabs with nothing but her own agility and the aid of the Force.

“I knew you were weak!” Seventh cackles, confidence obviously boosted, “I  _ always _ knew it!”

As did she. Every time she looks at Cal Kestis, she is reminded of that fact. She is indeed weak for him. Compromised by his very existence. That damage cannot be undone. Too much of her has been spilt at his feet. And now she is paying the price. 

Trilla does what she’s never done before and backs down from the Seventh Sister. She has to get to her Jedi. He’s only a few Force aided steps away, but she wants to save her strength - she knows she will need it. 

Katooni is being held aloft by the Fifth Brother, his enormous hand wrapped around her neck. How she got herself into that position, Trilla can only guess. Kestis is trying his damndest to navigate the situation without harming the girl, but it’s a losing game. Every time he gets close, Katooni is used as a sick living shield. She looks close to unconsciousness - dangling limp.

“Trilla!” Kestis looks to her with a flash of relief that quickly shifts to confusion, “What happened—?”

“Give me half of your saber!” She demands, glancing back at Seventh’s lazy, self assured approach. “Now!”

It’s truly unfortunate that he isn’t fast enough. 

Something awkward and heavy hits Trilla square in the shoulder, directly over her old wound. She grunts at the impact and is thrown to the ground. Fifth had thrown the girl at her. By the time she disentangles herself from the rubbery limbs of the Tholothian girl, she finds herself at the end of Seventh’s blade. The angry beam of energy is hot against her cheek. Trilla scowls at Seventh’s triumphant smile. 

“Hey!” Kestis advances on the Inquisitor, twirling his blades threateningly, his voice far more serious than Trilla has ever heard, “Get away from her!”

“Foolish Jedi.” Seventh purrs, “You have no power over me. Not like you do over  _ this _ trash.” She nicks Trilla’s cheek with her blade, “Oops?”

She flinches and feels Kestis’s anger sizzle along with her flesh. He practically trembles where he stands. “Don’t touch her!”

Trilla swallows hard at the wavering in his voice, “Kestis… stay out of this.”

“Oh no, please do continue. I am enjoying this.” Seventh giggles, “Tell me,  _ boy _ , what would you give to keep her safe?”

A chill runs down her spine at the other woman’s words. Kestis growls out, “I won’t play your games.”

“Would you surrender yourself for her sake?”

Trilla shakes her head vehemently at him, “Don’t you da—!” Her throat closes as the Fifth Brother marches towards her, a clenched hand raised. She cannot breathe. She claws at her neck futilely. The Force will not come to her - she can’t call it forth while her body panics. She sees flashes of the torture that made her an Inquisitor. The hours of being starved of oxygen and the sheer terror of not being able to take a full breath - the trauma haunts her even now. At the worst of times. 

“Silence, traitor.”

With Trilla subdued, Seventh swings her blade towards Kestis, “I have no use for a failed Inquisitor or this weak bitch...” She kicks at Katooni’s side. The girl is still sprawled unconscious at Trilla’s feet, “But you… You hold  _ great _ potential, Cal Kestis.”

“I won’t submit to you.”

“Of course not!” Seventh ‘tsks’ and adopts a mock understanding tone, “You’re far too proud for that. We will simply have to  _ convince _ you.”

Trilla doesn’t like the sound of that. Of any of this.

“Brother, why don’t you convince him?”

Trilla kicks and lashes out as she feels her spine shift slightly when the invisible vice grip around her throat tightens. A pitiful sound is forced out of her in her struggle. She hates being so helpless. It’s a nightmare. 

And Kestis is being forced to watch. 

“ _ Stop! _ ”

She sees the look in his eyes. She knows that look. She’s seen it in the desperate faces of countless others who thought they might be able to make a deal with darkness. 

He’s looking at her like he’s apologizing. 

_ Please, please don’t do this… _

“I’ll go with you.” He powers down his saber. “Just let her go.”

He really is a fool. 

Seventh Sister’s small seeker droids hover out of the back of her armor and circle the Jedi. “How predictable.”

He cries out as he is electrocuted by the droids, crumpling to his knees. Seventh pulls his saber to her hand and approaches his shaking body. “Did you  _ really _ think we would let her go free if you surrendered? Do you think us that merciful?”

Trilla balls her fists and squeezes her eyes shut to the sight of him. This could have all been avoided. This was  _ her _ fault—

Now they would all suffer because of her. 

Or, perhaps not. 

One of the Imperial transports nearby abruptly shatters in a dramatic fanfare of fire and molten metal. 

It seemed that Grakkus’s guards had finally overwhelmed the insurgency of stormtroopers within their lair and were making sure the rest couldn’t flee. 

In a very violent and vengeful manner. 

The entire platform trembles beneath them. Trilla takes advantage of the smallest weakening in Fifth’s hold on her and she wrenches free with a desperate shove in the Force. She scrambles back, taking greedy gulps of oxygen into her lungs. Another explosion erupts close by, throwing shrapnel into the air. Trilla feels a shard of durasteel embed itself in her back. It’s enough to send her to her knees, but she pays it no mind as she squints through the smoke - trying to catch a glimpse of red hair amidst the chaos. “Kestis!”

Nothing. 

“Just take this one and get to the gunship!” Seventh can be heard ordering above the roar of flames and cracking infrastructure of the landing platform. 

Trilla struggles to her feet, coughing. She stumbles forward blindly, “ _ Cal! _ ”

Engines power up. Shafts of bright light cut through the smoke and Trilla can make out the twin silhouettes of the Fifth Brother and Seventh Sister standing in the open bay doors of the remaining transport. 

Kestis is there too. She feels him. He’s no longer unconscious because she can hear his voice, though not what he is saying. Trilla pauses and concentrates, grasping for control. 

She waves a hand and the fog of destruction is cast away as though carried by a breeze. 

And then she is able to see him, kneeling down in the transport, framed by both Inquisitors. The ship is already aloft, slowly ascending. 

“Just go!” He’s yelling at her. “Get out of here!”

“You  _ cowards!” _ She screams at his captors, “Face me!”

Seventh is grinning wide, the fiery wreck of the other gunship casting her eyes aglow, “Maybe another time!  _ If _ you manage to make it out of here!”

“ _ Trilla!” _ Kestis implores in a tortured tone, “Please! You  _ need _ to leave!”

The whole platform is now alight in flames and floodlights. She is distantly aware of how critically damaged it is. She knows if it collapses, that they have a long way to fall. And she also knows that many of Grakkus’s guards are slowly and cautiously advancing on her despite that danger. 

Trilla lets the fear and the hurt and the rage she feels condense and travel through herself like a poison. With both arms outstretched and an angry cry, she forces the transport’s ascent to halt. The small vessel bobs midair - attempting to break free of her hold. 

Sweat drips down her brow as Trilla strains to draw the ship down. She grits her teeth and groans at the effort. If she can just bring it near enough to jump to, then she might be able to free him. 

_ No. No, you won’t _ .

Reality is settling like ice in her gut. The futility of her actions is brought into sharp focus. 

“Trill—!” Kestis is cut off by a blow from Fifth Brother. 

Her anger increases triple fold. 

_ How dare they touch him? How dare they try to take him from you? _

Trilla is acutely aware of the imminent danger she is in, but she can’t bring herself to care. Her singular purpose now is to hold on to the ship. No matter what. Even if it’s the last thing she does. She can’t let go. The durasteel deck shears apart beneath her with a scream of twisting and straining metal. 

And then, inexplicably, he’s pulling away from her - or rather, she’s falling away from him. She claws and scrapes at the air. The Force slips out of her grasp as her back slams into open arms. A wordless scream rips from her throat as she realizes just what is happening.  _ No, no, no, no _ ...

Katooni holds her so tightly against her front that Trilla momentarily can’t catch a breath. She watches in horror as the gunship slowly drifts skyward, carrying Kestis away. His previously brave eyes betray him now. She can feel his fear. Taste it. As if it’s her own.. “ **_No!”_ ** Again, she tries to wrestle free, but she is held fast. 

“We have to leave! We can’t do anything more!”

One last time, she throws herself forward and wrenches an arm loose. With it, she manages to tug the ship off kilter in one last feeble attempt. It lists to the right and she thinks that maybe if she can just give Kestis the opening he needs to free himself? Maybe then—?

“You must _ let go!”  _ The young woman implores. 

_ It’s not too late to let go, let it go, let him— _

She can’t. She  _ won’t _ . 

“Leave me!” Trilla snarls at Katooni. She can see Seventh Sister laughing above her. Sick glee animates her face. The gunship creaks as it’s engines whine toward full power in an attempt to pull out of Trilla’s grasp. 

Blood drips down her lip where she’s biting. 

_ This wasn’t supposed to happen now. It was too soon. One day, but not today. Please, not today. We aren’t intended to end like this _ .  _ Not now _ . 

Searing hot agony blooms across her thigh. 

In the shock of her pain, the gunship is released from her steadfast grip. 

And then it’s gone.

He’s  _ gone _ . 

More blaster bolts rain around them, but Trilla can’t hear them. Everything around her falls away as she stares after the fast disappearing dot in the sky. 

“No.” She gasps out, stricken.

Grakkus’s guards rush forward to surround them. Katooni pulls at Trilla, “Come on!”

“Surrender, Jedi!” The Twi’lek guard from before bellows out, holding Trilla in his blaster sights. 

She is drowning. She’s sinking into a fathomless darkness and the only way out she knows is to let that darkness have her. 

Kestis’s fearful face flashes in her mind’s eye. 

It doesn’t matter that her saber is shattered across the platform. She doesn’t need it. 

A cry of rage rips from her throat as she abruptly pushes back the advancing guards with a shockwave so violent in the Force, she can hear skulls split and bones break as they impact the fortress wall. Less fortunate goons fly off the platform edge.

She’s never felt so suddenly powerful and so completely out of control at the same time. The dark side is a cold embrace that chokes her every pore and whispers  _ more more more _ —

Trilla strides forward to the lead guard. He is barely alive. She’s pretty sure his spine is broken. She hauls him up before her in a Force choke, his feet hang limp off the ground. His neck cracks with a sickening pop. He falls in a heap at her feet.

“Stop!” Katooni cries behind her, “Cal wouldn’t want this!”

Trilla sees red. Red like the inside of the mask she’d abandoned not long after meeting Cal Kestis. She rounds on the pitiful, weak, slip of a woman they’d risked everything for. The person Kestis had sacrificed himself for. “You know  _ nothing _ of what he wanted!” She screams, her throat raw and ruined, “I could have saved him! You took that from me!”

The Lothothian takes a wary step back, “I didn’t ask to be rescued!”

“Yes, well, you certainly weren’t worth it!” 

The platform is definitely going to collapse. It’s only a matter of  _ when _ . The  _ Arcanis _ is tipping alarmingly to the side where it sits. They really did need to go. Now. 

Just as they reach the gangway, a low beep, alarming in it’s tone, carries to her. Trilla is shocked to see a small, unmoving pile of metal hidden in the shadow of the  _ Arcanis _ . 

“BD-1?!” She hurries to the droid, kneeling down to take it into her lap. Another small unit, one of Seventh’s seeker droids, is sprawled out in pieces nearby. It clearly lost the battle. But, BD-1 was not unscathed either. A strut is damaged and one of its antennas has snapped clean off. Still, it didn’t seem concerned for itself. It beeps as frantically as it’s damaged parts will allow. Asking after its master. 

Trilla gathers the droid into her arms without answering it. It whirrs low and sad. The somber vibration of the sound against her chest harmonizes with her own inner turmoil. She struggles to stand with the blaster wound to her leg and the injury at her back, blinking through tears as she does. The Jedi offers her arm, but she shrugs her off and limps into the foundering  _ Arcanis _ . She hears Katooni follow her up the ramp. They do not exchange any further words. What was there to say?

Every second that passes carries Kestis further from her and that knowledge is ripping her apart. Thoughts of the countless agonies he might endure press in on her relentlessly. BD-1 beeps mournfully when she sets him in the co-pilot’s chair. Her hands shake as she collapses into the pilot’s seat.

She robotically takes the ship through its take off procedures and guides it up. Just in time. The platform gives way beneath them as they ascend. She can’t be bothered to watch. The  _ Arcanis _ slips through the bright and obnoxious towers of Nar Shaddaa’s cityscape and out into open space. 

It’s only when she looks over to where Kestis would have sat, and she sees his little droid, broken and morose in his place, that she finally comes undone. 

Arms wrap around herself, around the old and oily poncho she had once thought so completely ridiculous… and she cries. Muffled sobs wrack her body as she buries her face in the thick fabric, hoping to catch just the faintest scent of him. 

_ He’s gone and it’s because you weren’t strong enough. You failed him. Every agony he will face will be because of  _ **_you_ ** _. You’ve doomed him _ . 

Katooni enters the cockpit with a medkit. The young woman speaks to her, but Trilla is un-listening. Her mind is separate from the physical pain of her body. A useful side effect of the weeks of torture she’d once endured at the hands of the Empire. Now it does what it can to dull the agony in her soul. She is adrift. Lost. 

She has nothing now. No one. 

Only her failure. 

The coordinates for Nur are punched in without thought. She has to go after him. Consequences be damned. Even if she died in the attempt, she had to try. She couldn’t let him be subjected to the horrors she was. He was too good… he would die before he caved in. 

Her back burns where Katooni has extracted the durasteel shard. It clatters to the floor. Trilla involuntarily shivers at the cold slick of bacta against her skin. She frowns to herself, realizing her shirt is hitched up around her shoulders. When had she taken her outer garments off? She can’t recall, but she doesn’t care. 

“There.” She hears the Tholothian sigh, sliding Trilla’s shirt back down, “That’s the worst of it, I think.” She comes around into view, holding several bacta patches. “These should take care of your leg and that saber burn on your cheek.”

Trilla glares up at her, “Get out of my sight.”

Katooni doesn’t seem as phased as she hoped she would, “I will, once Nest rendezvous with us.” She drops the patches into Trilla’s lap, “I don’t like you, but I am sorry for your loss.”

“He’s not  _ dead _ .” 

“He was taken by the Empire.” Her eyes betray an old hurt, “He may as well be.”

Trilla closes her eyes against a fresh rush of emotion and turns away. A ragged inhale, “He’s stronger than most.”

“The strongest break the worst, but I’m sure you already know that.” Katooni’s tone is bitter and accusatory, “I lost a good friend to an Inquisitor.”

Ah. So that was it. The source of her anger. 

“I don’t care.”

The girl’s nose scrunches in disgust, “Yet, you seem to care so much about  _ your _ friend! What’s the difference?”

“I love him.”

Those three words roll off her tongue with such ease that Trilla wonders why she’d always been so afraid of them. 

A single tear tracks down her cheek..

_ You should have told him _ . 

Katooni’s voice is full of bitterness. “Love won’t save him. I would know.”

Her words hit Trilla harder than any physical blow. She claws at the armrests of her chair. “Get out.”

“You can’t tell—“

“I said,  _ get out! _ ” 

Katooni does leave. And with her she takes Trilla’s shock, leaving the former Inquisitor with agonizing clarity. 

The only option before her is one she never wanted to have to take. 

But she is desperate. 

Her pride can suffer for this. 

For him, she’d endure anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof... i’m so sorry, y’all. 
> 
> but also... yay! katooni!
> 
> yell at me on twitter: @acosmiclove


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a long chapter for y’all! thanks for being patient!

=+= indicates a pov change. 

— indicates a scene change. 

Trilla replays those final moments in her head over and over. Each mistake and misstep is pinpointed and analyzed and regretted ten times over. There was so much she should have done differently. 

It’s too late though. This was her fault. 

It is almost funny, in a warped sort of way, that Trilla hadn’t even realized she had gained any sense of happiness until it had been violently ripped from her on that burning platform. 

Until Cal Kestis had been taken from her. 

Her heart aches in a way she’s only felt once before and that particular wound had yet to close. It likely never would. And so this agony too, feels as though it will never abate. 

For so long, she’d resisted him. Denied him and herself. Tried so desperately not to give in to what had so obviously grown between them… This had been her fear all along - being torn apart by their weakness for one another. 

She just hadn’t expected it all to crumble so quickly.

What a fool she’d been to think fate would be kind. Everything had been set against them from the beginning. No amount of hoping or wishing could have prevented this end. They’d been doomed from the start. 

And yet, she doesn’t regret him. 

She can’t. 

That thing she’d admitted to earlier stops her. For better or worse, Trilla won’t take it back. She’d meant what she said. 

It’s daunting, acknowledging that a part of yourself belongs to another. They can do what they want with that tender part of you. Wherever they go, they take you with them - and there is always the risk they won’t return.

A flash of his face behind closed eyes prompts fresh tears to the surface. They roll down and sting the burn at her cheek, flushing away the bacta she halfheartedly applied earlier.

It’s only been an hour since they fled Nar Shaddaa. 

BD-1 warbles at her from the chair beside her. 

Absently, she reaches out to brush a hand across it’s ‘head’. The droid has tried repeatedly to get her to respond, but Trilla has nothing to say. What could she say? Not only that, but she thinks if she looks down into BD-1’s ocular receivers, she will lose what little composure she’s managed to scrape together. 

So, Trilla remains still, as if any sudden movement might disturb the fragile surface of her sanity. Her gaze is fixed on the slow movement of stars outside the viewport. She sees them and she doesn’t. Just as  _ he _ is everywhere and nowhere all at once. If she concentrates, she can hear him, smell him, see him moving just on the edge of her peripheral…

“Hey, I know you want to be left alone, but I found something in the hold you might want to see.” The Tholothian girl hovers beside her, “Trilla?”

It’s odd, how the physical world around is dim to her senses. How distant everything feels. Katooni’s voice is muffled to her ears - as though it is passing through a wall. After her ferocious outburst earlier, in which she had embraced her grief and rage to lash out with the dark side, it is almost a relief to not feel much of anything. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s a mess, is what it is.” She puts a hand on her hip and sighs, “Just come look.”

When Trilla stands, she immediately feels light headed. Her body aches and her eyes water in pain and exhaustion. It’s pathetic. Her self loathing compounds. Katooni says nothing as she follows Trilla’s slow and broken stride towards the hold, but Trilla senses her disquiet all the same. She wants to snap at the other to speak her mind, but it requires more energy than she cares to expend. As they pass the galley, Trilla is struck with the memory of Kestis leaning on the counter within, humming along to the music he played whilst cooking for them both... The galley is dark and empty and silent now. 

Not unlike herself. 

The crew quarters are next down the corridor and she pointedly avoids looking into them. She can’t. Not yet. Not now. 

When she enters the hold she stops short. There, sprawled out in the middle of the floor, is Rod. Well,  _ most _ of Rod. It’s head is notably missing. Oil has leaked from someplace within it, spreading from beneath it like a blood pool. 

BD-1 enters in after them and beeps frantically as it hobbles around the fallen droid. Trilla recalls their budding companionship. 

“I came across this guy when I was looking around. What is a battle droid doing on this ship?” Katooni prods at the fallen machinery with the toe of her boot. BD-1 squeaks indignantly at the action. “And what happened to it?”

Trilla tells herself she doesn’t really care, but after everything that had just transpired, Rod’s dismantling isn’t helping her state of mind. “It had been acting as the mechanic on this ship. It was here when we—“ She clenches her teeth to will away a rush of emotion, “—when we took the ship from the Haxion Brood hunters.”

Katooni is searching the floor, “Uh huh…”

“The Seventh Sister’s droids must have found it when they forced their way onto the ship.” 

“Aha!” Katooni ducks behind a crate and holds aloft the expressionless pick-shaped head of Rod. “Here it is!” She crouches next to the droid’s body and shoves it’s neck back into its shoulders with a satisfying electric crackle. Nothing encouraging happens. The droid still lays inert and lifeless. Leaning back on her heels Katooni pushes a stray tendril over her shoulder and chews at her chapped bottom lip. “I can probably get it booted back up with the right tools.” She pokes BD-1, “What do you think, little guy?”

Nausea grips Trilla very suddenly. 

“Good. Do it.” Trilla turns sharply and leaves as quickly as possible. The corridor feels too small, she drags her hand over the padding of the walls as she moves through it. She can hear Katooni call after her, but she can’t bring herself to reply. Why had the girl reminded her so much of Kestis just then? Her youthfulness, the enthusiasm in her willingness to help— it was such a small thing...

She retches in the fresher. Her hand shakes as it holds her hair back. Her leg trembles in pain, the bacta isn't working fast enough on the blaster wound. She slips to one knee and ends up slumped against the wall opposite the bowl. What a miserable sight she makes, she’s sure. Once, she’d been a formidable force, nearly untouchable. And now? Now she was a mess on the floor of a cramped fresher in the middle of Hutt space. 

_ Kestis is on his way to being brutally taken apart, mind and body, and you’re just wallowing here? Where is your resolve?  _

A frustrated sob escapes her as she lifts herself up and she clings to the sink edge. When she meets her own gaze in the mirror, she stills in shock. 

Eyes red and raw, ash smudging a light contrast to her skin... her left cheek scored with a line of burnt flesh at her cheekbone. Courtesy of the Seventh Sister. Her hair frames her devastated expression. Her nose flares as she struggles to control her breathing. 

Eyes closed or open, she sees him, looking at her, eyes clear and determined, even as they begged her for forgiveness. He’d powered down his weapon for her sake. The unspoken words he’d passed to her in that moment… Trilla couldn’t misunderstand him. 

Cal Kestis, always so determined, so persistent, never giving up, even in the most precarious of situations… had decided she was worth surrendering himself completely for.

He could have run. Saved himself. 

Lashes flutter and shoulders hunch as she wrestles with the knowledge. No one had ever considered her valuable enough to risk everything for. Of all the reasons and all the beings he could have chosen… he had to pick her? It’s an awful burden to carry. She was the very last person he should have decided to care for. 

_ You’ve murdered and maimed and you’ve enjoyed it - you invited the dark side into you and you reveled in its power. You will never escape the shadow of who you were and what you’ve done, you will never be worth an ounce of mercy or compassion or love.  _

_ His love, least of all _ . 

**‘Crack!’**

Her eyes open to a thin diagonal line splitting her reflection. She swears, for an instant, there are two different women staring back at her. 

The door control nearly cracks with the force of her palm. She stumbles out into the corridor. It’s somehow quieter here, even with the sound of the engines thrumming through the passageway. A long, steadying breath does nothing to calm her racing heart. 

A shadow passes by the cargo bay door. Trilla’s pulse skips even as she knows it’s only Katooni. 

It’s as though he’s all around her. A ghost in every reflection and the shadow cast by every light. She yearns to latch onto anything  _ ‘him’ _ . 

Even if it hurts, she can’t help herself. 

Trilla opens her eyes in the bunkroom. She doesn’t even recall entering it. She draws in a ragged breath. 

As far as belongings went, there wasn’t much of anything he’d left behind. He didn’t have much to begin with. Neither had she. 

“Bee dwoooo dee-boop?” BD-1 limps into the room, dragging it’s defunct ambulatory strut behind it. 

There is no avoiding it. Trilla almost can’t get the words out around the lump in her throat, “It’s not that simple.”

The droid bumps against her boots and warbles pleadingly. “Boop-doo breep!”

“No.” Trilla balls her ravaged hands and bites her tongue until she tastes blood. “I am  _ not _ abandoning him.”

There is still debate, even millennia after the first droid was created, as to whether or not they possess the capacity to feel - or if they can contain a consciousness of sorts beyond their artificial intelligence. Trilla is beginning to think they can. BD-1 is exhibiting all the hallmarks of a sentient being in the throes of grief. It slumps against her ankle and asks if she thinks Cal will be okay. 

She knows she could tell it the truth, but her heart is compelled to lie - to try and ease BD-1’s distressed processing unit. “I’m sure he’ll be…” Against her will, she imagines Kestis shackled to an interrogation rack, being subjected to the same manner of torture she and countless others had. Her body remembers the agony acutely. To think she had initially plotted to personally deliver him to that end? Her nausea returns. “I’m sure he’ll be alright.”

But she’s not sure. In fact, she’s tempted to be certain of the exact opposite. 

And it terrifies her. 

It’s almost a guarantee that he is being subjected to torture of some sort - even if he hadn’t reached Nur just yet. The Seventh Sister was not merciful in the least. She toyed with her prey in any way she could. What was he going through, right this second? Would she even know if he... if the unthinkable happened?

Surely she would detect such a thing through the Force? 

Trilla hasn’t felt this strung out since just after her defection to the Empire. When she’d first embraced the dark side. Her mind and soul had been flayed open and raw then. In this moment, she bleeds from those same old scars. 

She’s older now though. Not the naive padawan fresh out from under her master’s wing. Time and the harshness of the Inquisitorius has shaped her into a jagged point. This loss hurts, but she knows it’s the perfect fuel to feed the ever hungry flame of darkness that had been waning steadily ever since Cal Kestis came into her life. 

And with him gone, that anger and rage flare up with a vengeance. She feels it in the way her chest burns and the slivers of kyber in her hands pulse with the sweet power of the dark side. 

How she longs to wringe the life from the Seventh Sister… To rip that woman’s throat out with her bare hands. To make the Fifth Brother watch as she disembowels him—

_ ‘The hate you cling to doesn’t change anything but you, Trilla.’ _

Like an abrupt rush of freezing water over skin, her rage is quelled. The room settles audibly. She hadn’t even realized she was affecting her surroundings so physically. Her knees meet the durasteel deck with a definitive, hollow sound. 

“Broo dee beep?”

She blinks down at the droid’s rectangular ‘head’ incredulously. There was no way she was going to do what it suggested. Mustafar would freeze over before she resorted to going to  _ her _ . “Absolutely  _ not _ . I have someone else in mind.”

The droid almost appears to sigh, dipping its body subtly. 

Being on the floor like this reminds her of the countless other times she would put herself in this position in the past. To meditate. To commune with the Force. She reflexively moves her hands to face bloody palms up on her thighs. Maybe, if she reached out, she might sense him… 

It doesn’t come back as naturally to her as she would have hoped - the practice of releasing the tension in her body and opening up, and she barely manages to sink into something vaguely meditative, before a spark catches her attention. 

Her heart skips.

It’s a presence she knows and one she should have been concerned for right along with Kestis when he was captured. And yet, she’d been so caught up in the agony of losing him, that it hadn’t even crossed her mind. 

Hidden in the bottom of a locker at the back of the room, beneath a stack of musty blankets, is Cordova’s holocron. It glows it’s dazzling green in her hands. 

_ Oh… Cal… _

Could he have known what would happen? Was that why he’d hidden it? Was this why he wanted her to let them take him? To protect the children within the holocron?

Briefly, she is annoyed. Why didn’t he tell her? Did he not trust her? 

No. She wouldn’t blame him. He had to know she would discover it. Perhaps it was better she wasn’t aware until now. 

She tries to open it. 

It brightens in response, but stays shut. Jedi holocrons are meant to be opened by those walking the light path. And she is not.

“What’s that?” Katooni asks from the doorway. Trilla hadn’t sensed her approach. She’s beginning to think the girl is purposely masking her presence. It’s becoming annoying.

“What does it look like?” Trilla asks dryly. 

Katooni steps closer and frowns, “A holocron.”

“Yes. And that’s all you need to know.” Trilla looks past Katooni, “Did you repair my droid?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s charging right now, but I’m pretty sure I fixed it.” She glances down at the crippled form of BD-1, “I noticed the little one is damaged too. I could—”

Trilla steps in front of BD-1, “I’ll be making repairs to this one  _ myself _ .” 

“Okay, fine. You don’t have to bite my head off.” Katooni grumbles and crosses her arms. A tense beat passed before she sighs and softens slightly, “Look, I’m sorry about the things I said before. I truly am grateful to you for your part in rescuing me.”

It’s then that Trilla really looks at the girl. She almost stands even with her own height. Her bright teal eyes shine a clean contrast to the dirt and grime that clings to her skin. Her tendrils are naturally mottled purple at the ends, but there are also clear signs of trauma upon them - no doubt having been targets during her torture. Her clothes hang off her frame. She looks exhausted. 

“Do not thank me.” Trilla’s eyes drop to the holocron in her hands, “I did not wish to save you.”

They lock eyes. Trilla can see nothing beyond the Tholothian’s gaze, but she gets the suspicion that the girl is peering deep into her. She speaks, “Sometimes we do things we least expect - and in the end, gain the want to do so again, for reasons beyond ourselves.”

Trilla knows she is not a selfless or kind person. She is nothing like Kestis or Katooni or the other beings across the galaxy that give of themselves so readily for the good of others. The most important person in her life before Kestis had been herself. It was always better that way. It was easier not to be hurt when one did not care for anyone but themselves. 

Look what her weakness for Cal Kestis had brought her. 

If she valued all life even a fraction of how much she valued him, she would never be whole. There was too much death and hurt and sorrow in the galaxy to open herself up to it. 

“You do not know me.” She spits out bitterly, “I was an Inquisitor not long ago, remember? I could have tortured that friend you spoke of - what pretty words would you have for me then?”

Katooni is visibly affected by that, as though she had been physically struck. To Trilla’s satisfaction, her voice comes out laced with anger, “You are a spiteful woman.”

“I am what I had to become in order to survive.” She replies cooly, “You will become this way too, in time. I can sense it in you. The desire for vengeance—“

“I will  _ never _ be like you.” Katooni snaps, “I would never fall to the dark side. I could never be so  _ weak! _ ”

_ Is that what they think it is? Weakness? _

“Can’t you see?!” Trilla holds the holocron out between them, “It was the Jedi who were weak! They could not see beyond their rigid idealism and fear! They set themselves up for failure!”

“I don’t believe that!” Katooni’s voice wavers, “We were deceived!”

“Yes!  _ We _ were deceived! Us! You and I and Kestis! We were too young to know better - too convinced by our masters that what we were doing was righteous and just!” 

“And joining the Empire was any better?”

_ No. No, it wasn’t.  _

But she’d learned the truth through her torture - the veil had been pulled from her eyes. She’d realized the hypocrisy of the Jedi Order. In contrast, the treachery of the Empire was plain to perceive from the start. The pain was honest. The power of the dark side was obvious. She didn’t necessarily believe in the Empire’s purpose - but she believed in its strength. It was undeniable. 

“As I said, I did what I had to.”

Katooni scoffs, “You just tell yourself that to try and rationalize the things you’ve done.”

Trilla jaw tightens and her hand clenches empty air at her waist, but there isn’t a weapon secured there anymore. The finality of its destruction is only really hitting her now. She has been in possession of a lightsaber since she partook in the Gathering as a youngling. It is strange to be without one. 

Katooni narrows her eyes. One of her feet shifts back slightly. There is a palpable tension in the air.

A tone - the comm signaling an incoming message, pulls them away from their standoff. Katooni disappears from the doorway in what was surely an unnecessary hurry. Trilla follows slowly behind. The wound on her back is more serious than she initially realized. She wonders if whatever Katooni had done to treat it was enough. Likely not. The girl didn’t seem entirely capable of much of anything. Again, she wonders just how the girl had lasted this long.

“—correct. We’ll start the docking procedure now. See you shortly.” Katooni cuts the comm and waves at the console, “They’re here. The sooner you get us docked, the sooner we can be rid of each other.”

Trilla gives a thin smile as she feels the smallest flicker in her gut. It’s hot and bitter and sickly. She begins the maneuver and lines the ship up perfectly with the Cloud-Rider’s much larger vessel.

The slight tremor of the ships’ meeting each other brings reality into focus.

Soon, she will be alone.

——

Trilla blinks and she’s on Nest’s ship. 

Time and her perception of the space around her is so unpredictable and disconnected to her that unless she focuses specifically on her every movement, she finds herself getting lost. If she weren’t so clouded with grief, she might be more concerned about that. But then again, perhaps it was the grief that was causing it.

“Katooni.” Nest, devoid of her signature helm, steps forward to clasps arms with the young woman and smiles at her warmly - the friendliest and most genuine Trilla has observed her. “It is good to see you in one piece.”

“Yes, thank you, but—“ Katooni glances over her shoulder at Trilla, an unreadable expression on her face, “My freedom didn’t come without sacrifice.”

Trilla scowls deeply to hide her true heartache. 

Nest shifts her gaze between them, “Cal Kestis…?”

“He was taken by Inquisitors.” Katooni doesn’t look away from Trilla, “As it happened, they seemed to be far more interested in Trilla, than me. Perhaps the fact that she was once one of them is a contributing factor to his fate?”

_ She’s… She’s blaming  _ **_me_ ** _? _

_ Why are you surprised? You know it’s your fault.  _

Nest frowns at that and fixes Trilla with a hard look, “You were an Inquisitor? Part of the Empire?” The disdain in her tone is palpable.

The urge to throw the Katooni into a wall nearly wins her over. Trilla barely restrains herself. It is probably for the better, given who enters the room just then. 

A girl, sporting a mane of tightly curled red hair, bounds in and throws herself at the Tholothian, “You’re back!”

Katooni’s demeanor shifts dramatically. She laughs and hugs the girl, “Enfys!”

“I have so much to tell you! We took out two Imperial posts while you were gone and I got my first swoop all to myself and—!”

“Let her breath, little one!” Nest scolds lightly. The girl flushes and releases Katooni. 

And then, much to Trilla’s surprise and continued distaste, a very familiar Weequay saunters into the hold. Katooni’s face brightens as he makes his way to her. “Hondo!”

The pirate goes to place his hands on her shoulders, but she dips in for an embrace. He pats her head awkwardly, “My child, you are making  _ quite _ the scene…” 

“—don’t care.” She mutters into his shoulder. 

Hondo sighs and holds her out from him. She stands just a fraction taller than the Weequay. “I owe you my deepest apologies.” His expression is morose, “I swore on my mother’s bones that I’d keep you safe, and I failed miserably.”

Katooni shakes her head vehemently and wipes at her eyes, “No, no! It wasn’t your fault… I knew what I was doing… you couldn’t have stopped any of what happened with Grakkus.”

“Maybe so, but still... I can’t help but feel partly responsible—“

“Hondo Ohnaka feeling  _ responsible?” _ She laughs, “Is it snowing on Tatooine?”

Hondo wags a finger in her face, “Please, do not tease this old pirate so viciously - I do have feelings, you know! I was quite beside myself with worry!”

More laughter. 

Trilla looks away. The sight of such unbridled relief and joy is too much to bear witness to. It’s  _ disgusting _ . 

She notices Nest watching her. The woman purses her lips and then asks, “You are going to go after him, aren’t you?” 

“Of course.” Her hands ache as she clenches her fingers tight over the cuts on her palms - the crystal shards digs deeper into her flesh. Maybe she’ll leave them. A memento of her failure. 

“I wish you luck in your endeavor then.” Nest says gravely, reaching out to rest a hand atop Enfys’s head. Trilla passively notes the physical similarities between them. “We have been lucky not to encounter any Inquisitors, but we have heard the stories.”

“You have not been lucky.” Trilla says darkly, “Inquisitors hunt force sensitives, not bands of pirates.”

Nest has nothing to say to that. 

“It is truly unfortunate.” Hondo has the decency to appear solemn, “That Cal seemed like a fine young man.”

So this was it then? They would offer nothing to aid her? No manner of compensation? Trilla knows she shouldn’t be surprised. These were criminals, after all. Even Katooni was a pirate it seemed. They obviously held no sense of ownership over what had occurred. They were only out for themselves. 

She’d told Kestis as much.

Not that she wanted their help. What could they do against the armada over Nur or the many other layers of security in and around the Fortress? No, Trilla knows the sort of help she needs, and it’s not the novice skills of a Jeand her pirate comrades. 

Katooni is looking at her with pity, “May the Force be with you, Trilla.”

If that wasn’t the most backhanded dismissal she’d ever received—

Trilla turns on her heel and stalks back to the  _ Arcanis _ without another word. They could go back to whatever useless, futile, rebel activity they liked to engage in to make themselves feel important and righteous. The Empire would catch up to them eventually. 

Long after they are gone, the  _ Arcanis _ remains floating in empty space. The nav chart is pulled up, shimmering mockingly at her. The plan she’d formed in her mind felt paper thin. How could she ask him for help? Where was he even? If he turned her down, what then? This might be a waste of precious time. 

All she knows is that she can’t do this on her own. 

Trilla runs a ravaged hand through the holo’s blue light. 

The galaxy fractures.

All is silent. All is dark.

The low drone of the  _ Arcanis’ _ s engines fall silent. 

She stands in a place she has been only once before.

The Jedi High Council chambers.

The masters are speaking. Deliberating in serious and somber tones. Trilla can hardly hear them. There is a roaring inside her. It is scathing and angry and… amused? She feels enraged that she is before them in such a state and elated for the very same reason.

And then she is looking upon  _ that _ woman again. Her pale skin, accented with unique purple markings, is lit warmly by the lighting in a passage. Still in the Temple.  _ ‘Asajj… Everything we had was real. It still is. My feelings for you haven’t changed.’ _

The woman looks conflicted. Anguished.  _ ‘But that is not the Jedi way, is it? You’ve chosen your path.’ _

Trilla feels Vos’s internal struggle. Something is not right. This is not the same man she’d felt earlier in his memories and this is certainly not the same Vos she’d spoken to in the caverns. He is shadowed. Barely recognizable.

There is only hurt left inside of him and yes, still a yearning to be with the Nightsister. It’s a twisted desire though. Something has warped it. 

Trilla shears herself away from the memory with great effort.

She comes back to herself on the cold floor of the cockpit - chest heaving.

The dark side sits in her gut and sweeps through her limbs, hot and pleased. As though it had sensed and fed on Vos’s emotions coursing through her. It’s intoxicating. But, for once, she doesn’t enjoy feeling this way. 

There is no power in this. Only the dreadful feeling of being out of control. Vos is an infection. One she knows she needs to scourge.

It is time to get answers. It is time she faced him. 

Her eyes slip shut once more. Her fingers grip the decking at her sides. This time, when Trilla reaches deep, she does manage to break through into meditation. It’s an unstable state of being, and her surroundings feel small, as though she’d grown since she’d last been so far within herself. 

“Show yourself.” She demands from the dark, choking emptiness that surrounds her. “Tell me why you are doing this to me!”

Nothing. 

Just the echo of her own voice repeating her query back to her. 

_ He is not here, but you knew that all along. You  _ know _ where he is. You  _ know _ where you must go _ . 

Her eyes fly open and she strikes the floor with a fist, a growl of desperate frustration escaping her.

BD-1 is warbling at her side. 

“I’m… I’m fine.” 

She’s not.

More beeps.

“Wait… What did you say?”

Trilla sits up and scrambles to her feet. Her wounds protest but she pays them no heed as she props herself up between the pilot’s chairs.

Before her looms a planet.

She freezes in shock.

_ How…? _

The nav computer flashes a completed hyperspace jump. Panic rises in her. She had intended to come here, but not just yet. Not in this manner. She doesn’t remember initiating the jump at all.

The choice had been made for her.

_ I foretold your return, child.  _

——

When the  _ Arcanis _ enters Onveon’s atmosphere, Trilla fully expects to hear that ancient voice in her head again, but it remains eerily silent. 

She lands the ship between the towering cliffs and the shimmering lake. It feels as though it has been both ages and just yesterday that she was last here. There is something oddy ‘right’ about being on this planet, and Trilla can’t say she’s very enthused about it. 

_ He should be with me _ . 

A significant portion of her wants to turn and run. This was surely a fool’s errand. A shot in the dark. Far more unlikely than reaching out to her treacherous master for help, as BD-1 had suggested she do.

And yet, her gut implores her to stay. There was  _ something _ here to be had. Something that might aid in bringing Kestis back to her. It was such a subtle, yet unwavering sensation - unlike anything she’s experienced before. 

Ignoring it would surely be imprudent. 

She glances down at her feet. There was one important item of business to attend to before she disembarked though. 

BD-1 protests her rudimentary droid-smithing skills. Trilla does her best to weld a new antenna and cobble together something that passes for a strut. It’s a rough and unsightly patch job, but it works. The droid offers her a begrudging ‘thank you’, despite it’s strides being more ungainly than they had been before.

Rod too, is back in action - it seemed that Katooni had proven good for something, in the end.

“Oh! Inquisitor! There are intruders—!” Rod glances around as she steps back from turning it on, “Oh… there  _ were _ intruders.”

Trilla moves to let the battle droid out of its charging station and opens the cargo hold door. Freezing air wafts in.

Onveon is much colder than it used to be. 

She shields her face from the biting wind and turns back to the spindly droid, “You will repair the faulty thruster while I’m away.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor!”

Trilla doesn’t care to correct it. 

The holocron secured to her side, she pulls the poncho’s hood over her head and waits until BD-1 has clambered onto her shoulder. It grumble-beeps about its uneven limbs as it scrapes for purchase on the fabric. She advises it to stay behind if it is going to complain. BD-1 falls silent. When she steps out into the frozen landscape, Trilla is instantly chilled to the bone. The air’s icy grip matches the ache that is now ever persistent in her. 

When Trilla climbs through her saber cut entrance into the warm, familiar cavern, she feels herself fracture further, cracks spidering out from the wound of his absence. 

The hot spring is still as perfect and pristine as it had been before. It reflects the kyber in the ceiling and the edges of the pool glow with the bioluminescent flora growing around its edges. Across the room, sits their small pile of supplies - arranged just as they had left them. The circular atrium is quiet, like a tomb. 

She can so easily picture him here. Leaning on the back wall, smiling easily at her, and then nearly bare beneath the heated waters, his face flush… On his back beneath her, eyes wide… Curled up beside her in his sleep, close enough to touch. 

A sweet wreck under her lips as she takes a kiss from him. 

Fighting back the sudden welling of tears, she goes to the smooth and uninterrupted stone wall where Kestis had once passed into the tunnel she  _ knows _ is behind it. The same passage she’d emerged from after days of being missing. For a long minute, Trilla tries to trigger a reaction, but she continues to be met with silence and the unmoving, uncaring rock face. 

The Force reveals nothing.

“Let me  _ in! _ ” The words rip from her throat in a sudden plea. Her hands press into the wall so viciously she feels the kyber under her skin pierce open her cuts anew. The shards pulse with every attempt to challenge the wall. The lack of response feels like an abandonment. Isn’t the Force supposed to be with her? She knows there is something here… Why won’t it reveal itself to her?

Trilla slides her bloodied hands from the rock and into her hair. She gives a ragged cry of frustration. She is at the end of her wits. Out of her mind. 

_ You cannot save him. He is gone. Accept it— _

BD-1 nuzzles her neck in concern. It’s exactly what she doesn’t need. 

“Get off of me!” In her anger, she wrenches the droid from her shoulder and tosses it away. Fortunately for it, it manages to catch itself, though it still rolls and collides with the opposite wall. Trilla whirls to face the little droid as it scrambles upright, “I don’t want your pity! I failed! Cal is gone! Can’t you understand that?! You’ll never see him again!”

_ And neither will I _ . 

“Dwoo… bee-doo…” BD-1 shuffles towards her, seemingly unfazed by her violent outburst. 

Trilla can’t keep her eyes dry. “How can I?!”

“Bee-bee bwooop!” 

She gives a sharp, humorless laugh, “I have you? And what can  _ you _ do?!”

It warbles on about ‘not giving up’ and ‘there’s always a way’, but Trilla has heard enough. There is nothing here for her after all. Just echoes of the days they spent together - days she wishes she could go back to, when it was just the two of them and the struggle to survive. She nearly makes it to the cave entrance when a voice stops her in her tracks. 

_ “Do you think she’s okay? She’s been gone for quite a while.” _

Trilla sucks in a sharp breath. She turns slowly to see the holographic form of Kestis reclined against the far wall. He is dragging his hand back through his hair - that endearing nervous habit of his she’d observed in their time together. 

BD-1 beeps at him. He laughs. Her heart bleeds freely at the sound.  _ “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I bet she’s fine.” _

She comes to stand before his flickering blue ‘ghost’. Through blurry vision, she watches him cross his arms and drums his fingers atop his knee. He sighs. The droid questions him slyly. 

_ “What? No! I just… I think she’s not so bad, you know? I mean, I’m not dead yet and you’re not scrap, so I guess that means she doesn’t hate us  _ that _ much?” _

BD-1 doesn’t sound impressed. 

_ “If she’s not back by morning, we’re going after her. Wait… BD-1?”  _ He leans closer to the droid, reaching a hand out to it, _ “No, no, no! Why didn’t you tell me you—?” _

The recording cuts. Kestis blinks out of existence.

Trilla stares, eyes wide and glossy at where he had been just a moment ago. Her mouth parts in a small sob and she wraps her arms around herself, shoulders curling forward and head bowing as she attempts to stifle the crescendo of emotion. 

In spite of all she’d done to him, he had worried for her. It had been clear in his trembling voice and the way he’d stressed his concern upon her eventual return. In the way he’d embraced her so,  _ so _ tightly… How could she have so callously disregarded him then? After leading him to believe she was dead - forever lost to the bottom of the lake?

And even further rewinding still, that very first day, when he’d revived her on the shore. An act of grace and compassion. Something he hadn’t needed to do. A gift he’d given. A second chance she’d taken. 

_ Even if it costs you everything, I cannot let it end like this. I have to persevere. He would do the same for me.  _

A shift. A popping, like a change in altitude — cool air pulls the steam off of the spring’s surface. 

The inky black of the illusive passageway, now revealed, invites her forth. A dare. A challenge. A call to something she isn’t sure she is ready for, but she’ll face just the same. For him. 

“Stay here, BD-1.” 

It defies her with a firm refusal. 

“I need you to keep an eye on the ship. I don’t know how long I’ll be away.” 

The droid whines, but acquiesces. Trilla falters, something she rarely does. She wonders if her actions have irreparably tarnished the fledgling relationship between them. 

“And…” She struggles around something almost like an apology, “I swear that I will not handle you that way again.” 

“Bee-bwoop!”

Trilla gives a small smile at the droid’s easy forgiveness and with her mind a little more at ease, she passes confidently into the dark. It can’t touch her. It is her and she is it. The tunnel is nothing but a construct of the Force and she is within its will. Whatever was meant to happen, would. And yet, she is resolved to remain in control. 

Time is passing too slow for her and she picks up her pace, eyes straining to see the larger cavern ahead. It is taking longer than she remembers to reach it. Maybe it’s the wound on her back stealing her breath, or perhaps it is the chaffing of the blaster burn on her leg that is impeding her? Eventually, muted light breaks up the dim and she emerges into that expansive grotto. The constant, rushing growl of the waterfall plays out on the stone around her. 

_ Now… how to find him? _

Trilla immediately turns back into the passageway. This was how she’d stumbled into him the first time, so it stood to reason she might find him this way again.

No matter how she paces in the last stretch of tunnel, there is no transporting to that space between. No sign of Quinlan Vos. 

“Where the hell are you, you recreant?!” She waves her hands out from her sides, exhausted and exasperated and clinging to a sense of urgency, “Show yourself!”

The one time she truly does want help… There is none to be found. He’s the only one she isn’t too proud to ask. Of anyone, she thinks he would understand. And, even if he didn’t, he could take back what he’d forced on her. She could be rid of his pervasive memories. Whatever he was trying to teach her - she was done with the lesson. 

_ You could be halfway to Nur by now. You’re only wasting time here.  _

Trilla swallows - heart loud in her ears. 

_ You’re afraid _ . 

The fear is not of anything external. 

Words not her own float into her conscience.  _ You must face it. Identify it. Name it.  _

_ Leave me alone _ . That oversized cephalopod had no business being in her head. Just as Vos didn’t. Trilla was tired of the unwelcome interruptions to her own thoughts. 

_ Quiet the din of your soul. Drown the blaze hollowing you out. Surrender to the Force.  _

A green glow, stronger than that of the plants in the chamber, brightens her surroundings. It is being emitted from the churning plunge pool beneath the waterfall. Trilla is immediately on guard, fighting the overwhelming urge to venture towards it. __

_ I can’t.  _

_ Willingly or not, you shall bare yourself. Face your fear.  _

Her heels dig into the slick stone at the edge of the water. The freezing spray from the waterfall has drenched her. When had she gotten so close?

Trilla stares down into the water and, in it’s illuminated turbulence, she sees herself. The burn on her cheek shimmers gold in the reflection. Her eyes glow unnaturally. 

And then, where she once was, she sees him. 

“Cal?” His name is so quiet on her lips, she can’t hear it over the roar of water crashing down before her. 

He holds a hand out to her. He says something she can’t quite make out.

She takes a final step. 

The water takes her and she lets it. 

——

Trilla remembers. 

These waters have claimed her life twice now. 

The first time, she’d been ready to let them have her. To let the deep dark take away all of her. Maybe she would have found something like peace in that eternal oblivion. 

But Kestis had brought her to the surface. Held onto her. Guided her gasping back into the light. She can still recall the gentleness with which he cradled her in his arms on the shore. It was the first kind embrace she could recall since before the Empire, and it wasn’t the last he gave her. 

Because the second time she wandered the edge of nothingness, it took longer to return. And when she had, Kestis had been there waiting to wrap her up in his arms once again. 

Those days under the lake had been a void to her. 

Until now. 

She recalls this terror well. 

Trilla chokes on the frigid abyss surrounding her. She kicks and claws instinctively, trying to find which way is up, but it’s a futile endeavor. The moment she slipped into the luminescent pool, she’d been swept down and away at such a speed that her bearings had been totally lost. 

Panic settles in her, burrowing a home in her throat and stretching out into her limbs. 

A flash of green. She focuses on it. 

The holocron. It sinks away from her. Deeper, deeper. She now knows which way is up. The opposite direction of the cube. 

There is no decision to make. She dives after the pulsing artifact. 

And when her hand closes over it, a sharp pain shoots behind her eyes. 

There is dirt in her mouth, pressing between her teeth as something presses down on the side of her face. Dust fills her lungs. Agony ripples from head to foot. She feels a small hand slip from her tight grasp.

_ “Trilla! Help me!” _ Young voices cry out for her.  _ “Help us!” _

She can’t. 

A staff is jabbed roughly into her back. Her body trembles in shock. Electricity crackles over her. Her fingers claw at the dirt, blood seeping from beneath her nails as she struggles to drag herself forward, towards the panicked cries. “ _ P-Please… _ ” She begs through her tears,  _ “Let them go…” _

Even though she knows how this ends, Trilla watches anyway. Their presences are extinguished in the bright flashes of blaster bolts. She sees the small bodies drop lifeless at the edge of her reach. She feels tiny fingers brush hers. Their terrified expressions are frozen in death. 

The edges of her vision darken as her chest heaves in rapid, labored breaths.  _ “NO!”  _

In the last act of mercy afforded her by the Empire, she is stunned into unconsciousness. 

Only to reawaken on a metal grated floor. It’s hot. Scalding. Molten rock boils far beneath her. Trilla pushes herself to her hands and knees. She can taste the sulphur on her tongue. This is familiar. She knows this place well. A presence makes itself known off to her right, but before she can look to it, a boot kicks her so hard in the side she retches reflexively - coughing up what little had been in her stomach. 

A laugh, hoarse and cracked. 

_ “Where is your pride now, Trilla?” _

This is no memory. 

She whips her face up to the figure stalking slowly toe-to-heel around her. It was all wrong. It wasn’t true. This was some twisted manipulation. A hallucination conjured by her oxygen starved brain. 

Clad in well fitted Inquisitor garb, Cal Kestis grins down on her. She can’t bring herself to look away. The sight is terrible whilst being undeniably alluring. In this vivid vision, he looks even more intimidating than she’d ever imagined he might. He crouches before her, face gaunt and warped and mean, and reaches out a red palmed hand—

Trilla expects a violent touch. He exudes the dark side, after all. But instead, he cups her injured cheek gently. “ _ Why are you crying?”  _ His voice is far too soft,  _ “Isn’t this what you wanted?” _

_ “No. I never— Ah!” _ She grabs at his wrist, but his hold on her face is steely. His thumb presses mercilessly into the saber burn. She writhes in pain. 

“ _ You did this to me. _ ” His eyes flash and his voice is rough with rage, “ _ Why would you even bother to come here, after what you’ve done? _ ”

Her nails bite into the exposed skin between his glove and sleeve. He doesn’t seem to notice. Desperately, she lifts her other hand in an attempt to push him back with the Force, but he catches her arm and wrenches her to her feet with him, her jaw still clamped in his grasp. He is incredibly strong. 

_ “Did you think you could  _ **save** _ me?” _ He laughs, and Trilla recognizes the ugly despair in his tone. It’s an echo of her own. It’s devastating, to see so blatantly her own hurts mirrored in this version of him. “ _ You really took your time getting here, you know. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I’d do if you ever showed up.” _

“ _ You aren’t him.”  _ She bites out, angry that he would ever appear to her this way, “ _ You aren’t Cal. _ ”

And oh, how he smiles at her. It reaches his eyes, yellow seeping through green, “ _ Not anymore, no. You were too late. _ ”

_ This isn’t happening _ . 

The pain feels real enough. 

“ _ I  _ will _ save him _ .” She declares through grit teeth. 

He’s pressed up against her now. Body flush to hers. It’s exactly what she wants and she hates that it is so. Her senses are full of him and she responds in a mix of disgust and attraction. His uncharacteristically rough touch, the way he smells of fire and blood and nothing like oil and earth, and how bold he is being with her… it’s exhilarating, but it’s all so very wrong. He releases her arm to slide his hand down to her waist - whilst a leg pushes between hers and he smirks lecherously at the sudden inhale she takes at the brazen advance. And even though he isn’t her Cal, he still  _ looks _ like him… mostly… The adrenaline coursing through her is shamefully joined with desire. 

“ _ You can’t save anyone _ .” He breathes against her lips whilst dragging the pad of his thumb over her seared cheek none too gently. “ _ You’re dying, Trilla _ .”

“ _ What? _ ” Trilla blinks through the heady haze of the vision. She feels it. The pressure in her skull. She winces, “ _ I’m not— _ “

“ _ You can’t even save  _ **_yourself_ ** .” 

There is the distinct sound of a lightsaber igniting. She gasps sharply at the cold hot knowledge that the beam of energy is piercing her gut and canting at an angle up and out her upper back. And yet, there’s no real surprise to this. Orange blade or red, she’d long expected him to be the end of her. It’s almost relieving. There is no one else she’d ever be satisfied with taking her life. He can have all of her. Even her last breath. 

He holds her up as her knees give out. She clings to him, fingers scraping against his armor. Trilla tries to speak, but finds she cannot. Only small, pathetic sounds of agony pass through her lips. 

His mouth slides over hers again and she lets it. It’s the smallest bit of sick warmth against the cold shock of her imminent demise and she cherishes it. 

_ “I’m sorry…” _ whether they were her words or his, she can’t tell. 

And then he’s gone. It all is. That accursed interrogation room, the heat of the lava beneath her, and the searing pain of a lightsaber spearing through her. 

Her ears ring. 

She is aware of a muffled scream and she realizes belatedly it’s her own. Water floods her burning lungs, extinguishing them and filling them simultaneously. 

_ No, no, no… _

She holds the holocron close to her chest. It’s light is slowly fading. Or, perhaps she is. 

_ Surrender.  _

To do so was to be defeated. To put oneself at the mercy of another - and the only one she would give herself to was not here.  _ I won’t. I can’t.  _

_ You must.  _

Everything is going static. Her body first, and now her mind. _ I cannot trust you. _

_ You already have.  _

In those lost days. Yes. She knows. Somehow it’s all there in her mind. The day she’d scavenged the transponder from her TIE… this thing had pulled her into the depths and hidden her away in the dark. She lay inert in the Force. Time a construct. It had been there with her. Watching. Speaking. Teaching. Why couldn’t she remember?

_ You must. As you did before.  _

If she doesn’t, she will die. Trilla can feel it. And if she perishes here, how ever will she save him?

Trilla stops fighting. 

She surrenders. 

——

_ “Awaken.” _

Trilla flinches at the loud command. It is outside of herself. No longer in her head. 

Half out of the water, Trilla clings to a rocky ledge. Behind her and below her, the water is a radiant green-blue. It’s warm. Her body trembles as she heaves herself up and onto the ledge. The poncho’s soaked weight makes it difficult, but she manages it, collapsing onto her back. The wound there is a flare of agony that helps to ground her. She focuses on her breathing for a time. She has never felt so disoriented. 

_ What is happening? _

At first, she wrongly assumes the sparkling scape around and above her is a star filled sky. Clarity slowly dawns on her. 

Kyber crystals. 

More than she’d ever seen before. On Ilum or in the other sections of Onveon’s caverns. The entire chamber is packed with the flickering stones. And it was by no means a small space. Trilla is reminded of Kestis’s worry for the fate of Onveon. Of how he lamented Ilum and didn’t want the same thing to befall this world. 

The Emperor would indeed be pleased to know of this place. Whatever he apparently required vast amounts of kyber for would only benefit from a repository such as this one. Trilla closes her eyes and methodically rebuilds her ravaged mental barriers. She knows even thinking about the Sith Lord would only invite his scrutiny. His powers were great. There was no telling what the extent of his reach was, especially when it came to those whose minds he’d already touched. 

Such as hers. 

_ The holocron! _ She sits up in a hurry. The cube is nowhere to be seen. Through the Force, she reaches out to sense it, but the domed room is an echo chamber of sorts and she can’t pinpoint it among the hundreds of kyber deposits. 

“ _ Is this what you seek? _ ”

The presence behind her… no, above her, is overwhelming. Trilla looks up to see the massive, glowing form of the tentacled lake creature creeping down along the wall. Each crystal patch it passes brightens like a flare. It’s limbs flow out from it’s circular body like neon ribbons. There are bluish spots barely contrasting on the surface of it’s skin. It’s large eyes are radiant pearls. The beast illuminates its surroundings, and Trilla as it nears her. 

“ _ It has been many ages since I beheld a holocron _ .” It’s voice booms louder as it holds it aloft in a tentacle. To her shock, the artifact opens and a star map expands out from it. There are points flagged all across it. Locations. Names. Children. Trilla tries not to focus on any of them. She doesn’t want to know. Knowing is dangerous. 

“You possess the Force.” Trilla breathes. She is beginning to piece together the fragments of understanding. 

“ _ No _ .” The holocron closes and the creature slips closer to her. “ _ The Force possesses me. As it does yourself.” _

After the events she’d just survived, she wouldn’t disagree that she was indeed possessed. It felt like a fever dream, the drowning, the visions… Kestis’s lips hot against hers whilst he drove his blade through her… Trilla grimaces. In retrospect, it was a nightmare. In the moment, it had been bliss. “What are you?”

“ _ I am that which has been and will continue to be _ .”

Trilla pushes to her feet and brushes wet hair back from her face. “That doesn’t elucidate much of anything.”

“ _ Doesn’t it? _ ” The creature almost sounds amused. 

She doesn’t have time for this. “Why am I here?”

“ _ Why do you think, child? _ ”

Trilla glares at the fluorescent monster. Was she really going to have to play a guessing game with it? “I cannot fathom why - I only came back to this world to seek out assistance from a Jedi.”

“ _ And did you find this Jedi? _ ”

Her shoulders drop and she answers bitterly, “No.”

“ _ You were foretold to return. This was an inevitability, regardless of your original intentions _ .”

If she had to hear more baseless drivel about her supposed destiny, she was going to throw herself back into the water. “Return me to the surface. I cannot stay here. I need to—“

“ _ You do not yet know. You cannot yet see _ .”

Anger churns within her. The water laps more forcefully against the rocky lip of the pool she’d emerged from. “Do not speak to me in riddles, beast.”

“ _ The one you seek is drowning - but so are you _ .”

Alarm seizes her. Her heart beats erratically. “What do you mean he’s drowning?”

“ _ Listen _ .”

She hears him. 

He’s screaming. Terrible cries mixed with barely formed pleading words. They echo all around her. The kyber falls dim. Darkness crowds her. For the briefest of moments, his agony is hers. 

“No!” Trilla claps her hands over her ears, “Stop! Stop it!”

It ceases, but not all is silent. She is hyperventilating. Her fingers claw into her chest, twisting in the canvas of his poncho. A keening sob pushes out of her as she nearly doubles over from the overwhelming agony. 

“ _ You are unbalanced. Fear, grief, anger. These things rule you. They are like great stones. You cannot rise while they are bound to you. _ ”

The words barely register. All she can focus on is the suffering she’d just sampled. Her guilt compounds. He was enduring great pain because of her. Because of her failure. More than ever, she hates herself. 

_ You used to be so strong. You opened yourself up, let him unmake you, and because you didn’t know how to put yourself back together again, you couldn’t protect him… _

“I have nothing else. I know nothing else.” Her voice breaks, “My pain is all I have.” 

A deep rumble of disapproval shakes the chamber. The creature stretches a single tentacle out to her. She tries not to flinch when the appendage taps her temple lightly. 

Like a holo drama, her time with Kestis plays out across her mind. Every touch, every word, every shared moment of vulnerability between them… they flicker like embers floating up to the stars behind her eyes. She remembers the words she declared to Katooni. Her chest burns with the truth of those words. 

She was wrong. 

There is something else she has now. It is a pain of a different sort. A sacrifice of self. A sweet ruination.

“ _ Now you see. Now you know _ .”

Yes, she does. But she isn’t at ease about it. “How will my feelings for him help me? They’ve only weakened me.”

“ _ Weakness. Strength. Emotion. The Force isn’t governed by such things. Whatever power you believed you had, it was only what you could take, not what you were given. With balance and inner stillness, like the calm of water on a windless day, you will fulfill your purpose. _ ”

“And what is my purpose?” She can’t keep her resentment out of her tone, “What grand plan does the Force have for me?”

The holocron drifts into her hands. The great cephalopod sends a pulse through the Force. The room shines bright white and she sees the shape of something within it. 

A future. 

Certainty takes root in her heart. 

“ _ You are already fulfilling it, Trilla Suduri _ .”

——

The tip of her nose itches at a featherlight feeling. 

She sneezes. 

Trilla’s eyes fly open to the sight of a bioluminescent insect fluttering away from her, into the dark. The same sort she and Kestis had encountered on their final night here. 

Trilla shivers. She’s awoken on the sandy beach Kestis had brought her up onto that fateful day they’d fallen from the sky together. She almost laughs at the irony. It couldn’t be coincidence. She grits her teeth as her body trembles from the cold. If she didn’t want to freeze, she needed to move. It’s then that she notices something peculiar... in one hand, she holds Cordova’s holocron, but in the other…

Fingers unfurl to reveal a singular crystal in her palm. It refracts unusually as it glows in the dark. 

Water drips from her face onto it. It sparkles back at her. 

Curiously, her hands no longer hurt. A quick inspection in the pale moonlight shows them to be flawless. Unlike the rest of her wounds, these have healed completely. 

She is baffled. 

The shards from her palms had to have gone somewhere… The kyber crystal answers her. Yes, it is as she suspects. 

Trilla swallows hard at the implication of being bestowed this crystal. Of being chosen to have it. She tears her eyes from the kyber to pocket it securely in her drenched pants and proceeds to reattach the holocron to her side. 

Her body protests every movement as she gets her feet under her. Feeling like pure bantha shit was getting old fast. Yet, she has no intention of resting. She will get to back to the ship and—

_ Go where? To Nur? Foolishness. You haven’t made any progress here - only wasted time. No Quinlan Vos, no answers, no way forward.  _

Trilla shakes her head free of her negative thoughts and pulls the poncho’s hood farther over her face as she presses forward against the wind. She hadn’t nearly drowned a third time for nothing. It was hard to pin down, but there had been a movement of sorts inside her. A change. Trilla can’t identify the quiet warmth that has taken root in her chest. It certainly hadn’t been there before, but she doesn’t mind it. 

It isn’t until she’s nearly to the cliffs, that Trilla realizes something is amiss. 

Lights illuminate the outside of the  _ Arcanis _ . Another ship has landed beside it. A tall, distinct dorsal is silhouetted in the moonlight. Trilla knows exactly who this is. 

Her anger ices over the fragile peace inside her. 

Options race through her mind. Weaponless, wounded, she is in no condition to fight, but her first instinct is to go and try anyway. She can sense her now. It seemed that her old master had opened herself to the Force once more. 

Trilla spots Cere leaving the  _ Arcanis _ , her boots tapping down the metal gangway. Trilla emerges from the dark, releasing the veil over her presence. She watches in satisfaction as Cere freezes and locks eyes with her. A flash of fear and then puzzlement crosses her face. “Trilla—?”

Another voice, otherworldly and hostile, snarls from her left, “Where is he?!” 

In her blind anger, Trilla had not taken notice of the other potential threat. She startles and throws a hand out to stop the approaching figure. Her Force choke is rebutted with a sharp hand motion. A flash of green sends Trilla flying through the air and into the side of the other ship. Her teeth rattle at the impact and her shoulder instantly feels wrong. She falls to her knees, clutching her arm. 

Hardly a second passes before she feels weightless again. The tips of her boots scrape the dirt as she is lifted by something that  _ almost _ feels like the Force. 

A girl, pale as snow and clad in crimson, holds her aloft as she wields what appears to be green flame. It writhes like a living thing around her fingers as she moves her hands to manipulate Trilla further. She can feel her thoughts being prodded. She growls as she tries to withstand the telepathic onslaught. 

Cere has run over, holding a hand out, “Merrin! Stop!”

“My sisters will  _ make _ her talk!” 

So, this was  _ her _ . The one Kestis had spoken of. Trilla glowers, “I will tell you  _ nothing! _ ”

“We shall see!”

Like her mental blocks are nothing but gauze, they are ripped apart and she is laid bare to the phantom touches of departed souls. They laugh at her. Trilla cannot hide. 

“ _ Enough!”  _ Cere takes Merrin by the wrist and wrenches it down. Trilla drops in a graceless heap to the ground. 

Some part of her, not her own, has been drawn to the surface. Trilla watches Vos’s memories rush around her in a disjointed way. They slow on every instance of Asajj Ventress. As though she is important. 

The undead whispers tell her so. 

_ Sister. Sister. Sister.  _

——

Trilla has officially lost her sense of time. How many days had it been since Kestis was taken from her? One? Three? Ten? 

She does register that she is lying on a cot. And that there is someone else near. Her eyes fall on a short being, a Latero, attempting to slip past her. Their eyes meet and his widen comically, “Uh, I’m just going to… uhh...” He darts away. 

How odd. 

In the next moment, an excited series of trills and beeps careens toward her and Trilla grunts as BD-1 leaps onto her stomach. She coughs as she sits up. “Yes, yes, I am fine.” Another set of beeps has her rolling her eyes, “Yes, I know. One of them welcomed me quite...  _ enthusiastically _ .”

She tenses as she senses an approaching presence.

“BD-1 has vouched for you.” Cere says evenly as she comes around the corner into view. Trilla is vindicated by the older woman’s blatant discomfort as she shifts her weight and adds, “But I want to hear everything from you.”

Just what exactly had the droid told her?

Trilla is existing in close proximity to the subject of all her hatred far better than she would have expected of herself. Perhaps it is because Cere appears to be nothing but a tired, beaten woman. Where once it was easy to see the pride and noble self righteousness she possessed as a Jedi Master, now she is obviously barely holding herself together. “Before you ask your questions, I would have you tell me how you found me.”

“Cal sent us an encoded message. I was able to trace it here.” 

_ That conniving little bastard… _ When had he done that? How had she let it escape her notice? Trilla scoffs and shakes her head, “Of course he did.”

“He assured us he was okay. Where is he?”

Her chin quivers against her will and it takes her a few attempts to say anything at all. “He’s gone.”

“Where?”

She swallows thickly, her tongue heavy. Her eyes focus on the wall opposite her. “The Fortress.”

Cere’s concern can be felt rippling in the Force. She turns away, fingers pressed to her forehead. “This is what I feared…”

“I tried— I tried to prevent it…“ Why was she even attempting to explain herself? Why did she sound so… small?

“How long ago did this happen?” 

Trilla can’t answer that. She doesn’t know. BD-1 interjects for her and throws out a number that shocks both of them. 

“Four days?!” The elder Jedi exclaims, crestfallen. 

It was a long time to spend as a prisoner in Fortress Inquisitorius, especially when every hour could be made to feel like an eternity. Trilla hears his screams again unbidden in her mind. Her eyes burn. “I am going to get him back.” Her tone leaves no room for question. 

“You defected, didn’t you?” Cere murmurs, “ _ You’re _ the renegade asset the Imperials are in a frenzy about.” 

Trilla meets the other’s eyes, accusing, she leans forward to sneer, “Are you surprised, Cere? Astounded that I was capable of such a thing? What a curious thing, is it not? Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as lost a cause as you so quickly deemed me five years ago?”

“Trilla…” She closes her eyes to Trilla’s piercing ones, “I  _ know _ the choices I made took all of your choices away… and I am so  _ very _ sorry…”

No. No, this wasn’t good enough. Trilla pushes herself off the bed and crowds Cere, backing her into a nearby workbench. The dark side meets her eagerly, but she finds it’s sweetness has soured. Her fingers curl at her side, “You  _ abandoned _ me! You left me to  _ suffer! _ ”

“I made a mistake—“

“A mistake?!” It’s incomparable, the depth of hurt this woman had caused her. “I  _ trusted _ you! You were supposed to  _ protect _ me!”

“You had embraced the dark side!” Cere rebuttals back, an edge to her voice. 

“And you didn’t?!” Trilla can still recall her shock at her master’s explosive and violent use of the Force. At that point, she herself had not embraced the dark as wholly as her master did in that moment, but had free fallen fully into her hatred in the aftermath. 

Cere cringes and shakes her head, “I can do nothing more than apologize to you, Trilla. I regret what transpired between us - I have long been ashamed of it.”

Trilla blinks furiously. After years of wishing death upon this woman, how could Trilla just accept this simple apology? She wants to scream. Rage. Throw every detail of the pain Cere caused her back in her face. Tell her how she’d failed not only her, but the younglings as well. What would Cere say if she told her that they had hoped for her return until the very end? And yet  _ she _ was the one who had given them up to the Empire. Their blood was on her hands. “I’ve carried so much hate for you…”

“I know, and I know it’s not easy to let go of.”

_ ‘The revenge you want will never undo what happened. It will bring nothing but more suffering—‘ _

She is loath to admit Kestis might be right. If she acted on her hate here and now, it might spoil any chance she had to retrieve him. As undesirable as this situation is, she does need the help. 

Cere touches her arm. The injured one. Trilla flinches back a step, “Don’t—.”

“It’s dislocated.” 

“Touch me again and I’ll break your hand.” She snaps and Cere shirks back from her a fraction. “You don’t think I’ve had worse? I can remedy this myself.” She proceeds to shove her shoulder back into its socket with a soft grunt. The action hurts far more than she lets on. Still, the relief that follows is worth it. Cere adopts a pitying expression. The sort she would give Trilla whenever she came away from a spar bruised in body and ego. 

“I can feel your grief.” Her eyes and voice soften, “I sense you’ve been through a lot.”

Trilla sucks in a defensive breath and straightens to her full height. “That’s none of your concern. You were the last person I would ever have come to for assistance...” She continues, though it’s hard on her pride, “...but now that you’re here, I’ll admit that if anyone should go back to Nur with me, it’s you.”

Cere is solemn in her response. “I agree.” 

Trilla is suddenly hyper aware of her surroundings. The way BD-1 perches comfortably on the end of the cot… the single glove resting on the workbench - a surface scattered with assorted parts. This area was  _ his _ . She struggles to keep her composure as she sits back down on the cot, fingers brushing over the linens. He’d lain here. Existed in this space. 

“You have the holocron.” 

Trilla touches the cube peeking out from beneath the thick canvas she wears, “Kestis entrusted it to me.”

The compartment is too small to contain the tension. Cere crosses her arms and adopts a stern countenance. Trilla is tempted to believe she is trying to assert some sort of long voided authority over her. Surely she isn’t that ridiculous. Cere tips her chin up, “Did you… get close to him?”

The audacity of this woman. 

“I didn’t  _ fuck _ him, if that’s what you want to know.” Trilla intones dryly. 

Cere opens her mouth and then closes it. Her floundering would be amusing if Trilla wasn’t so irritated. She finally sighs, “No, that was definitely  _ not _ what I wanted to know.”

“He and I no longer have any desire to kill each other. Make your assumptions from there.”

The older woman has the gall to smile at her, albeit a barely perceptible one. Trilla immediately scowls in return. Cere doesn’t seem to be bothered by her former apprentice’s ire, “Come out when you’re ready. We’ll need to make a plan.”

Trilla doesn’t have a chance to reply. Cere has already walked away.

She left her back open as she did. Trusting that Trilla wouldn’t take advantage. To Trilla’s surprise, attacking her hadn’t even crossed her mind. 

Her heart is pounding. 

That had definitely not gone how she’d ever imagined it would. In fact, she’d never once considered that the two of them might have such a peaceful and non violent reunion. Of course, it wasn’t like she was anywhere near ready to forgive Cere, but the anger she had clung to for so long… it just wasn’t as incandescent as it had been. It didn’t consume her like it once might have. 

She is more confused by this than anything else. 

BD-1 nudges her hand and warbles low. Trilla taps it’s ‘head’ affectionately, “I didn’t intend to worry you.”

“Bwoop-beep dee?” It queries, cocking its ‘head’ curiously. 

Did she find what she was looking for?

“No.” Her thoughts dwell on all she’d witnessed in the last days. The conflict within herself laid bare. “But I think I received what I needed, in a way.” BD-1 beeps excitedly at that. Trilla offers it a slight upturn of her lips, “You wouldn’t have found the adventure to be very enjoyable, I can assure you.”

Distantly, she can make out the muffled voices of the crew. They don’t sound entirely pleased. She isn’t either. When she next lays eyes on the Nightsister, she is going to make sure the girl knows just how displeased she was to have her mind imposed upon.

She really is sick of others forcing themselves into her head. 

Her fingers hook into the blanket shoved into the corner of the bunk. She draws it out and up to her face. The fabric is rough against her nose. Faintly, she detects his scent. Her eyes fall shut as she savors this small remnant of him. 

When Trilla emerges into the main bay of the  _ Mantis _ , all eyes are on her. She expects hostility, especially from the Nightsister, but all she receives is a passive stare. As if she hadn’t been throwing Trilla around like a rag doll a little while before. Curious. 

Cere attempts to circumvent any potential awkwardness by immediately calling up a nav chart on the holo table just back from the cockpit. “So, we know where Cal is.” She indicates a point on the chart. “Nur. The headquarters of the Inquisitorius. Those that are taken there are never meant to leave.”

“You being the sole exception to that.” Trilla says bitterly, “All other escapees have never made it past the outer fortifications.”

The Latero lingers just inside the cockpit, looking anxious. “So basically what you two are saying is that this is a suicide mission?”

“Probability of escape won’t matter if we can’t even get down to the surface. We will need to get past the destroyers essentially blockading the planet.” Trilla waves a hand and the holo magnifies Nur. She places markers above its surface to indicate the ships in orbit. “I could provide a transport code that might work to buy us some time, but if we are scrutinized even a little, we’re done.”

“I can help.” The Nightsister crosses a leg where she sits and brandishes green tendrils of energy between her fingers, “I know a ritual. It will hide the ship.” She falters and shrugs as she extinguishes her power in her fist, “I hope.”

“Are you sure?” The Latero wrings his top set of hands together, “I really don’t want to get lasered by a star destroyer. It’s the top of my list of things I  _ never _ want to happen to me.”

“Merrin’s ritual is likely our best option.” Cere nods at the Nightsister, “It’s worth a shot. What do you think?” She looks at Trilla. 

It was so very strange, being involved like this. It put her in the mind of being gathered with the clone officers and Cere around a battle strategy. Occasionally, she had been asked for her insight. It had always been exciting and nerve wracking - offering up her opinion back then. In contrast, there was no such sense of camaraderie amongst the Inquisitors and the men in their command. She had simply sent them off to die. They were nothing to her. Sure, she had been strategic with her orders, but not for anyone’s benefit but her own. As long as her missions were successful, Trilla had not cared what her losses were. 

So yes, it was suspicious the way she was so readily trusted here. The easy, and familial atmosphere begs her to let her guard down. 

She won’t. Not yet. 

“Let the witch use her magicks. If we make it, we should infiltrate from beneath the lake. The underwater access ports are not nearly as heavily guarded as the upper platforms.”

“Once inside, I can engage their defense level and sabotage their sensors so we can be extracted. If all goes right, that is.” Cere sighs as she rakes a hand through her short hair. 

Hair that had once been long and beautiful as it swayed about her shoulders. Trilla had braided it many times herself. So much time had been spent twisting and styling it to perfection - sometimes making idle conversation, other times Cere meditating while Trilla sat behind her. The memories feel ancient. From a different life. A different girl. She pulls her eyes away and blinks out of her reverie. “I’ll find Kestis.”

“Can you do it alone?” Merrin pipes up.

Trilla meets her eyes. They reveal nothing, but she does raise a thin brow at Trilla, clearly expecting her to answer. Trilla grips the edge of the holo table. “The more bodies involved in this the more complicated it will become.”

Cere’s tone grows dark, “And what if he isn’t able to walk?”

“I will carry him out if I have to.”

The Latero sounds very concerned, “You think he’s gonna be in that rough of shape?” 

“Greez, I only lasted a fews days before I cracked.” Cere says quietly, “Cal might not be… well, he could be very hurt.”

“Yeah… but…” Greez frowns, “If anyone can make it through this, he can.”

Trilla doesn’t want to extinguish the hope in the air. In fact, she wishes she could be so optimistic. It’s impossible though, having seen and experienced things none of them had. Not even Cere understood the extreme methods used. Back when she had been held in the Fortress, the torture techniques had been heavy handed and obtuse. Now though, after years of refining, the tactics were far more insidious. Trilla knows all about the process of breaking down a being until they have nothing left but their pain and their fear. In fact, she’d overseen many interrogation sessions personally. It was a common task given to the Inquisitors. A test of their ruthlessness and resolve. 

She had not risen to the rank of Second Sister for nothing. Her ability to separate herself from her baseless and horrific actions had given her an edge over her peers. 

It didn’t keep the screams from finding her in her nightmares though. Not even the strongest sleep aid held them at bay when they came for her.

“As I said, I’ll carry him if I have to.” Trilla takes a deep breath and then abruptly winces. The wound on her back was really starting to give her trouble. 

“In your condition?” Cere ‘tsk’s at her, “You should have one of us take a look at your injuries—“

“No.” 

They face off. A silent battle of wills. 

“Come with me.” Merrin has appeared at her side, unnaturally quiet in her approach. She touches Trilla’s arm. “Cere is right. You can’t rescue anyone if you’re struggling to even stay on your feet.”

_ ‘You can’t save anyone. You can’t even save yourself.’ _

Trilla unclenches her jaw. “Fine.”

——

The Nightsister is quiet as she motions Trilla to sit on Kestis’s bunk. Trilla sheds the poncho and folds it in her lap. The still damp uniform jacket follows. She hesitates before sliding her sleeveless undershirt up under her arms. 

Merrin breathes in sharp. 

“It isn’t pretty, is it?” Trilla huffs, half smirking through the pain. 

“Do you always neglect yourself this way?” Merrin cleanses the wound. 

Trilla twists her hands into the poncho and inhales shakily, “I didn’t have time to bother with a few scrapes.”

“This is not a ‘scrape’.” The younger woman chastises, “It is quite serious.”

Trilla had suspected as much. “Nothing bacta can’t remedy.”

“Reckless.” Merrin presses said bacta patch firmly over her lower back. “Now let me see your leg.”

They repeat the process, though it is a shade more uncomfortable for Trilla, baring herself thusly to the Nightsister, but Merrin doesn't bat an eye at her. All business, she tends to each injury all the way up to the burn on her cheek. “Wait.” Trilla brushes her fingers away from her face. Merrin folds her hands in front of her. “It’s not impeding me.”

“It will scar irreparably if you don’t begin treating it soon. Even now it might be too late to reverse all the damage.” 

“I understand that.” Trilla squares her shoulders, “I don’t care.”

“What do you care about?” Merrin asks, her tone a shade confrontational. The most emotion she’d shown since their first encounter. 

Trilla frowns, “The only thing I am concerned with, right now, is retrieving Kestis.” 

Merrin nods and seems introspective. “I see.”

She senses that the Nightsister has more to say, but that she is holding her tongue for some reason. 

The ship shudders as a particularly strong gust sweeps from the lake and buffets against the cliffs. Trilla hears the Latero complain loudly about potential damage to the ship. 

Cere hurries into the aft and takes a pause at the sight of Trilla and Merrin sitting together on the cot. “Greez wants to take off before the main manifold freezes.” She looks to Trilla, “Grab what you need from your ship and we’ll get going.”

Trilla can only think of one thing to bring over. 

——

Rod, as it turns out, is not as well received by the  _ Mantis _ crew as Trilla. 

“A battle droid?!” Greez waves his arms emphatically. “What will it be next?! The Emperor?!”

Cere seems to want to tread carefully in her disapproval. “It’s uh… an unusual choice for a companion.” 

Merrin only glares at it. 

So, Rod is promptly powered down and stored in its collapsed position under Kestis’s workbench. BD-1 beeps solemnly at the sight - it had only just regained it’s friend, after all. 

Onveon is quickly put behind them. Nur awaits only a half day away. 

Trilla stands at the work table and looks down at the collection of parts scattered across it. In the center, she places her small kyber crystal. 

She plots the design, setting each piece around the crystal as inspiration strikes her. There is no way she was going to limit herself if she doesn’t have to, so it would be a double blade as her previous saber had been. In the end, the only thing she isn’t quite sure of is it’s hue. 

Her mind falls quieter than it has been in years as she concentrates on bringing the various components together. The Force is surprisingly light in her hands as she blindly manipulates the pieces before her. 

When it is finished, she leaves it on the bench for a time. She can’t really say why she is hesitant to ignite it. 

_ It doesn’t make you good. It doesn’t exonerate you. It means nothing _ . 

Her uncertainty stretches on. Cere comes to her eventually, perhaps once again attempting to mend the un-mendable between them. “I see you’ve finished it.” 

“Yes.” Trilla hisses, hoping the other would take a hint. 

She does not.

“A lightsaber is meant to be used to protect others.” Cere points out, sounding all the more like her master of old with every passing moment. 

Trilla casts her gaze up in annoyance and disgust, “A Jedi philosophy.”

“Yes, but it’s a good one.” Cere picks up the hilt from the table and balances it on a single finger. “Why did you build this?”

“I need it.” Trilla says as though it is the most obvious thing in the world. 

“But  _ why _ do you need it?”

“I am going to use it to cut down anyone who stands between me and Kestis.” The unspoken threat is there. Cere seems to catch her meaning. 

She tosses the long hilt to Trilla, who snatches it out of the air. “And after you accomplish that? What will you do?”

She doesn’t know. “If we make it out of Nur with our lives, you can ask me then.”

“I will.” Cere gestures at her, “Well? Let’s see it.”

Trilla ignites the blades one at a time. They hum to life with crisp snap-hisses. Perfect shafts of cyan light illuminate the aft compartment. Trilla can’t look away. It isn’t at all what she expected - and yet somehow exactly what she wanted. 

Cere’s eyes are alight with the glow of the blades, yet she is unreadable - oddly stoic as she stares at her. Trilla briefly relishes in the fact that could so easily strike the woman down… Perhaps she still might. 

With this weapon in hand, she will bring her wrath upon her enemies and take back what is hers. 

_ Hold on, just a little longer. I’ll be there soon. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gang’s (almost) all here! 
> 
> hopefully they don’t kill each other. 
> 
> up next! a chapter of pure cal kestis angst. 
> 
> thanks to @ezraordinaire for suggesting several of the story beats this chapter - including trilla’s outburst towards bd-1 and the holo of cal she is shown. 
> 
> also! here is a a beautiful piece of art i commissioned featuring trilla and bd-1, alone after losing cal: https://twitter.com/arazend/status/1340017991749169152?s=21
> 
> come yell at me @acosmiclove on twitter


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